


Somewhere Only We Know

by SublimeDiscordance, suyari



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: (at least not for any parts that would make it weird), Alternate Universe - Shifters, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Chuck Lives, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Father/Son Incest, Hansen Twins, Hansencest - Freeform, Human Max Hansen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Max Is Not A Dog, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Relationship Tags To Be Updated, Sibling Incest, Yancy Does Not, chuck is an idiot, probably, rp fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 47,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There are things Max knows. People like to think that because he spent half his life - and the entirety of his young adult years, which are important to people for some reason - as a dog that he doesn’t understand. It’s actually the opposite.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Max is a shifter, he and Chuck are twins, Pitfall happens, Chuck doesn't die, and nothing is ever the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Herc

**Author's Note:**

> As of this posting (Jan 1st 2015) we have 21 chapters and ~40k words of this written. The chapters are variable in length, but tend to be about 1-3k each, though some are shorter and some are longer. 
> 
> This fic started as the two of us literally just messing around with a gifset on tumblr (the post with the original idea still present can be found [here](http://phoenix-angel-suyari.tumblr.com/post/84584124861) and [here](http://phoenix-angel-suyari.tumblr.com/post/85112869511) so that credit can be given to all people to whom credit is due) and just kind of...(d)evolved from there. 
> 
> I know some people have been asking after this story (you know who you are), and the reason why nothing new has been seen from it for a while was that, well, both of our lives got incredibly busy and we took a break from writing it. Also the fact that we took it off of tumblr and instead started trading it back and forth in a less public venue. We're back at it, although no guarantees as to when it'll be done. We do have it mapped out largely and, at a guess, it'll probably be 30-40 chapters long in the end. However, (spoilers, slightly) the plot just took a twist neither of us were _quite_ expecting, so it could be more than that. 
> 
> Finally, a note on how the story is structured and how we're going about writing it: this is an RP fic. Of sorts. More to the point, we basically just each write a chunk of the chapters while the other person writes another chunk. We give input and feedback to each other during this process, but, for the most part, each chapter is an independent venture by one of us. Neither of us are restricting ourselves to a specific subset of characters, and, in fact, at this point one could say that each of us have written every character in the story at least once. As such, though, yes, this is an RP fic, it will _hopefully_ not read like one except for the shifting perspective. Speaking of, there is also no real order as to which person gets to narrate at which point. We both have agreed to simply pick the character who best fits the situation and go with it. 
> 
> TL;DR: We've had a lot of fun and, fair warning, the perspective shifts around a lot and not in any real order; hopefully, though, you enjoy it just the same.

Max vanishes at some point in the aftermath of Pitfall. One moment, he’s right by Herc’s boots, head on his paws, leash pooling around him where Herc’d dropped it—the strip of weather-worn leather is mostly for show, anyway—and the next he’s simply… gone. Herc isn’t worried. There are only so many places a bulldog can get in the Shatterdome, and Max is smart enough to not try to get into any of them without someone there to drag his fuzzy ass out.

Dignitaries have all flown in from all over the world to congratulate the PPDC on their success in defeating the Kaiju, to reiterate that they’d always thought the PPDC was the right way to go but that they’d been cowed by their fellow politicians with the Wall of Life program. Herc shakes hands with so many people his fingers start to go numb. His smile is cramping, and there’s a dull throb building in the pit of his stomach that’s spreading along the length of his spine. Everyone is talking about how safe they are now. Now, everyone wants to discuss the future, how bright and Kaiju-free it’s looking to be.

No one is quite looking him in the eye.

He knows why. Knows that the loss of his entire family is all anyone sees when they take in the way his shoulders don’t stay quite as square, the way his smiles don’t pull quite as high; the way he can’t seem to keep his eyes from straying, if only for a moment, over to the LOCCENT console where the choppers are even now still busy combing the ocean for any sign of Chuck or Stacker. After all, Striker had escape pods, but the blast more than likely would have completely obliterated them even if they had been launched, the techs say.

When all is said and done, Herc is left feeling exhausted and wrung-out and so horribly, completely alone. Like something in his chest has been carved out, and his fingers itch, twitching in the fists into which he’s curled them. As calmly as he can, he waves away the invitation to the party that someone has organized down in Scramble Alley and heads for his room. It’s not until he’s nearly to his door that he realizes that something’s still missing: the patter of Max’s claws as the dog waddles along behind him. However, the note on his door written in a messy scrawl he recognizes as being Raleigh Becket’s puts him somewhat at ease.

_I found Max sitting in front of the door whining at it. I let him in since you were busy with Marshal duties.  
Hope you don’t mind. –RB_

Herc snorts. Marshal duties. They seem so irrelevant now that there’s hardly anyone left to fight for.

He twists his door open, unsurprised to find that the locking system is disengaged—Chuck must’ve left it open in his haste to change into something more drivesuit-ready. Herc always was trying to get him to remember basic things like that sometimes. The room is dark when he enters, also unsurprising. He leaves it that way even as the entryway seals with the heavy sound of metal on metal, ignoring the light switches in favor of relying on the soft glow from the wall console by his bed and the sliver of light from under the door to see. He sighs as he wanders over to his desk, pulling off his vest and leaving it on the back of the chair. He glances forlornly at the desk pushed against the other wall, a mirror to his own. Chuck’s leather jacket is hanging off the metal chair, dark leather seeming to absorb the inky blackness. Herc crosses over to it, reaching out a tentative hand, wanting so badly to just touch the material, to make contact with the one last piece of his son he has left. Something holds him back. Chuck left this here, just like this. If he moves it—disturbs it at all—it feels like he’s almost dishonoring what’s left of his boy. The hand drops back to his side, and he sighs, the hollow in his chest feeling especially cold.

A noise filters out of the dark. A single word that makes Herc’s stomach freeze and his breath catch in his chest.

“Dad?”

It’s got to be the ghost drift, he tells himself. There’s no way it’s what he thinks it is. Absolutely no way. It’s not possible. Chuck is _dead_ , the is no way he’s hearing his voice—

“Dad, that you?”

Herc whirls around, arm stretching to flick the switch on the wall as he does.

His son is on the bed he and Chuck once shared. He’s just sitting there, staring up at Herc as if he’s lost, completely naked, freckles running down his bare arms as he raises them to shield his face, blue-green eyes blinking rapidly.

It’s impossible.

He hasn’t seen that face in ten years. Even so, there’s no mistaking who it is. The hair, the _face_ , may be almost the same, but his build is slighter, and the sarcastic glimmer is absent from the cerulean depths that are boring a hole through Herc’s skull.

“M—Max?”

There’s a pause during which they just stare at each other, Herc at a complete loss for what to say. Thankfully, it’s Max who breaks the silence.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s me.”

Herc nods as if this makes sense, as if he can suddenly accept that his other son—Chuck’s twin brother—has decided he wants to be human again after a _decade_ of refusing to shift back. As if he can simply _adjust_ to the fact that his son is no longer a bulldog—that his son _had_ been a bulldog since the day his wife died. Where Chuck had refused to ever shift again, instead choosing to pour himself into his training and revenge, Max, ever the gentler of the two, had simply… gone away.

“Why, uh,” Herc chokes on the words, vision blurring as something so cold it _burn_ s spreads icy tendrils through his chest, “why now?”

Max shrugs.

“Chuck’s gone.”

The words, so simple in their truth, strike Herc like a hammer blow to the chest, and his good hand comes up to his heart without his consent, massaging the muscle over it as he tries to draw in breath. Max must see the effect his words have—Herc _knows_ he does, the way concern flashes in his eyes—but he continues to stare at his father for a moment before he finally holds his arms out, a sad smile coming to his lips.

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m here now. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Herc practically falls into his son’s arms, the shudders and screams of frustration and helplessness ripping themselves from his body as he holds on for dear life. Everything comes pouring out: the grief from Angela’s death that he’d never really allowed himself to feel; the knowledge that he hadn’t been enough for one of his sons, while the other had simply decided to hate him for saving the two of them; the knowledge that one of those sons is _dead_ , is _gone_ , and it’s all Herc’s fault, he should’ve been there with him—

It’s not okay. Herc doesn’t know if they’ll ever really be okay. Max holds him tight, breath warm against the older Hansen’s temple, and says nothing. Herc knows his son will have his own share of grieving to do, the way he’s let his animal side deal with all his problems for the past decade not nearly comprehensive enough. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever get back to where they used to be. Hell, he barely _knows_ his son anymore.

Maybe that doesn’t really matter, though.

Maybe, when Max leans down and plants his lips on Herc’s, telling his father that he did it because “Chuck used to do it to you and it made you happy, so why shouldn’t I be allowed to?” like the competitive child Herc remembers him being, the words so much like something Chuck would’ve said, it nearly rips the jagged edges of the wound in Herc’s chest into bloody furrows, because how the hell has he ruined his family this badly?

Maybe when he manages to convince Max that, yes, he loves him, but, no, he doesn’t have to be that for Herc, Max says he doesn’t care, that he still wants it, but relents anyway because Herc says that it’s too soon.

Maybe Herc lets out a sigh of relief as his son drifts off to sleep next to him, the younger man curling into his father’s side and making the same, soft snuffling sounds he’d made as a bulldog.

Maybe he can’t sleep until he wraps an arm around Max’s slighter form, holding him close, reassuring himself that, maybe, even if Chuck is gone, he and Max can start over, can avoid the same mistakes that he and Chuck had made.

Maybe his last thought, just before he drifts off to sleep, despite the guilt and sadness trying to crush him and cut off his air, is one of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, that’s all that matters.

 

*****

 

Herc dreams of Chuck.

He dreams of their first night together, the remnants of their first drift setting their minds on fire as they rush into one another like two celestial bodies colliding. Their fumbling first time together, no finesse, nothing more than a desperate need to crawl as deeply into each other as they possibly could, Chuck’s body pulsing around his length as the younger pilot rides him, the actions tantalizing him with just this side of _not enough_ that Herc grips Chuck’s hips and starts jackknifing into his son’s willing body.

He dreams of the way Chuck would bite at his lips hard enough to draw blood, swallowing the older pilot’s growls and practically _mewling_ when Herc reverses their positions to pin his son underneath him.

He dreams of the way Chuck would look asleep, the way the stress and anger would fade from his face as he huddled into his father’s arms in the midst of his dreams. How Chuck would, for the only time, actually look his age.

He dreams of Chuck’s first shift, the way he’d had two small boys clambering at his legs, both vying for his affection, and then there had been small claws scrabbling up his pants as a small, grey and black shape had run up his leg and buried itself in his pocket, the small sugar glider curling up and seeming to doze off almost immediately as Max had looked on in jealousy.

He dreams of the rescuing Chuck and Max from their school in Sydney, how Chuck is, of course, the one who belligerently asks where Angela is.

He dreams of the moment that is forever seared into his memory when the second sun had bloomed behind the chopper, the shockwave from the explosion rattling them even as Herc fought to keep them in the air.

He dreams of both his sons’ faces as they realize that their mother isn’t coming back.

Herc dreams of Chuck.

And then he wakes up.

The transition is not smooth, not a gentle rising from dreaming into wakefulness. Instead, Herc is awakened all at once by a frantic screeching in his ear, coming from right next to the bed. The console then; being used in emergency mode. He sits bolt upright, because there used to be exactly one thing that this channel was used for, and that one thing is supposedly gone—locked away from then until whatever freaks of nature Becket had dropped a bomb on found another way back.

"What is it?" he asks gruffly, wiping crusty sleep from his face as he does. It’s not like this channel uses video, but it’s still the principle of the thing.

"Sir," comes Tendo’s voice, his excitement almost palpable, "we found a third escape pod. Biometrics were shot to hell and back, so we still don’t know if he’s injured or not, and medical doesn’t want them to open the pod yet just in case—"

Herc’s patience, which is practically nonexistent at this time of night and is more thin than usual as of late, snaps.

"Get to the point, Choi," he growls. "Who’s in the pod?"

Tendo takes a deep breath before, _finally_ , he says, “It’s Chuck, sir.”

There’s a harsh intake of breath from beside him, and Herc looks down to see Max propping himself up on his arms, staring avidly at the display of red and blue numbers and figures from which Tendo’s voice is projecting.

"Chuck’s alive?" he asks softly, almost reverently? "He’s back?"

"Sir?" the chief LOCCENT tech sounds confused. "Is there someone there with you?"

"Answer the bloody question," Herc responds, in no mood for explaining that he actually has another son whom no one in the PPDC except Stacker and Scott had ever met because, well, as it turned out, he was the dog the Hansens always had with them. No. Not a conversation for now. "Is my son alive or not?"

There’s a short pause during which his heart plummets, because, despite Tendo’s earlier tone of happiness, a pause like that means something. It always does. Then,

"Yes, sir, he is. Medical is already waiting at the helipad for the chopper with his pod, but, yeah. Chuck’s alive."

It takes Herc and Max fewer than five minutes to get dressed. And, even then, it only takes so long because Herc has to grab his son to prevent him from just wandering out into the hallway naked as the day he was born. It’s not that his son is forgetful or even overexcited: he’s simply been a dog long enough that he's… forgotten. When the elder Hansen grabs his son and explains that, no, he can’t just walk around naked anymore, Max looks confused for perhaps half a second before Herc sees the light bulb go off in his head, and then he glances down at his feet and murmurs something about not having any clothes, because, well, dog for ten years.

The nice thing about having identical twins is that their clothes tend to fit one another. This time is no exception. Dressed up in one of Chuck’s drab olive tees, some jeans, and—Herc nearly weeps when he puts it on—Chuck’s jacket, the younger of Herc’s boys looks almost exactly like his brother, except that everything is slightly baggy on Max. Regardless, it fits well enough, and they’re both dashing out the door, Herc shouting people out of the way.

When they finally reach medical, though, Herc freezes. He doesn’t know why, exactly, because this is his _son_ , one of the only things he has left in the world to fight for. Yet, for some reason, he can’t seem to make his feet move. Max must notice his distress, because he noses at Herc’s jawline in a move that is entirely too intimate for them to be doing in public. Even so, it makes the older Hansen shiver.

"Max," he starts reproachfully.

But then Max licks him. From the angle of his jaw to just under his mouth. Actually _licks_ him. Herc blinks, stunned, for a few moments before he has to fight to keep himself from bursting with laughter. Because, really, he’s almost positive that Max’d meant to give him a reassuring kiss on the jaw or cheek. Instead he’d licked him. Just goes to show what ten years as a dog will do to a person.

Max’s smile is wide, pleased, and for a moment there is so much of Chuck in it that Herc has to close his eyes, count back from three, and then open them again to make sure he isn’t hallucinating.

"C’mon, Dad," Max encourages him, voice soft, fingers winding together so that their hands are joined. "Let’s go see Chuck."

 


	2. Raleigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might've noticed, the chapters take their titles from the current narrator. If we've done our jobs right, though, that shouldn't be necessary for you to figure out who's up to bat, so to speak.
> 
> Also bonus points if you can figure out which of us wrote each chapter. ;-)

There’s a _collar_ around Chuck’s neck.

Except Chuck is lying prone in the bed. Raleigh looks back and forth as if not quite able to compute what he’s seeing.

There are two Chucks.

One Chuck is deathly pale, with a full-bodied pallid, wan look. His skin is glossy and thin, but he’s bulkier, rounded out. The other Chuck is fully conscious, shifting his weight from foot to very bare foot, and looking anxiously between Herc and Chuck on the bed. Raleigh stands in the doorway, not quite frozen, more transfixed.

“But what does he _need_?!” snaps Herc at the poor tech clutching his pad.

The thinner Chuck tilts his head as medical jargon is babbled out quickly and not exactly efficiently. “Take mine!” he interrupts.

The two men turn to him, the tech wide eyed and Herc appalled. “Max, no!”

“Take mine!” he demands. “I’m twenty one, I can do what I want with my own organs.” He steps into them, just as intimidating as Chuck in height, if not nearly as threatening in size. “Where do I sign?”

“Ummm…”

“Max!”

“We’re identical twins,” Max - apparently - informs the tech, taking the pad from him. Abruptly he turns it over. Raleigh wonders if he's seriously looking for pages. Max shakes it as if something will fall out.

“Max,” Herc says more gently, laying a hand to the thinner young man’s wrist.

“His body won’t reject it!” he assures no one in particular earnestly. “He’ll know they’re mine and he’ll accept them.”

The medical staff look on dubiously, more than one worried glance passing from one face to the next.

"Dad," Max sighs, turning to look at him. "Dad, _please._ "

Herc shakes his head slowly, unsure. Max steps into him and wraps around him, slumping until he’s half dangling, though clearly still supporting his own weight. “We can’t just let him die, Dad,” he murmurs against Herc’s shirt. “We can’t just say goodbye.” He’s shaking his head, fingers curling reflexively in his father’s vest. Herc smooths his hands over his back, understandingly.

"You could die, Max," he husks into his son’s hair, closing his eyes in a rare moment of intimacy. "I just got you _back._ I can’t-“

"Chuck _will_ die, if we don’t do anything,” he counters with authority. “If Chuck dies…” He makes a sound Raleigh’s only ever heard from dogs, and he watches as Max’s kneels lower, practically dragging Herc to the floor with him.

"Max _no!”_ Herc cries, reaching up to grasp him by the face. Looks him in the eyes. “You can try, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work sweetheart.”

"It’ll work," Max replies, grinning slightly. "You just have to _believe_ , Dad."

And he promptly licks Herc across the chin.

 


	3. Herc

There are complications during the surgery. Herc has to suppress the urge to punch something at the word: _complications_. As if those four syllables can sum up the fact that the doctors went in to save one of his sons from dying and have succeeded in nearly killing them both.

The medics had performed the appropriate tests to determine if Max is, in fact, compatible with his twin brother for transplant—and, as much as Herc loves his son’s blind optimism, he’d rather not leave that one up to chance, genetics be damned—and then put him under to perform the emergency partial hepatectomy that was needed to save Chuck’s life. Herc had argued, sure, but Max was as stubborn as his brother, if not more so, even if he'd always hidden it under a gentle exterior. Genetics be damned, indeed.

Herc sits in the waiting room, Raleigh Becket at his side. The blond had given him an entirely too understanding look when Herc’d raised an eyebrow at him, looking for an explanation for why Raleigh’d been in Chuck’s room in the first place.

"I know what it’s like to lose family," the younger pilot says by way of explanation, "and, besides, he saved us all—nearly sacrificed himself for us. It’s the least I could do."

There’s not much Herc can say to that. He knows it’s not the entire truth—call it an instinct left over from raising two rowdy boys—but it’s good enough, and he returns his gaze to his clasped hands. Unease crawls up in his gut the longer he sits there, the muted chaos of the ‘dome worming its way into room despite the staff’s repeated attempts over the years at soundproofing the main doors. The soft, random sounds do nothing to alleviate the roiling in his stomach, and Herc has to resist the urge to vomit because those are _his boys_ in there, one of them dying, and all he can do is _wait_.

The feelings of unease get worse when, twenty minutes into things, the doors to the surgery fly open and a nurse appears, looking around frantically, gaze settling on Herc. The unease freezes into a soft ball of panic that he shoves down with what feels like an impossible effort. Herc hears Raleigh draw in a breath through his teeth, and some part of his mind waits for the exhale that hasn’t yet come. However, when the nurse approaches, they both stand.

"There’s been a complication," she says, drawing down the mask covering her nose and mouth without waiting for the question. "Max is apparently allergic to the anesthetic we initially used—"

Which is the point at which Herc’s mind checks out. He catches a word that sounds suspiciously like anaphylaxis, though he’s pretty sure there was a “not” somewhere before it, which is good, he supposes. Raleigh starts speaking, the nurse nods at something he says, and Herc nods as well, not entirely sure why he’s doing it. The nurse leaves, and Raleigh steers Herc by the shoulders until they’re sitting side by side again, except this time Raleigh wraps an arm around the Australian’s shoulders and pulls the older man into his side. Under normal circumstances, Herc would’ve brushed him off, probably with vague sort of threat, but all he can hear is a soft buzzing that’s taken up residence in the back of his mind. Those are _his boys_ in there, and now _both_ of them are dying, and there’s nothing he can do about it. All he can do is sit here, useless, and wish that he’d told Chuck how he felt before Pitfall, wish that he’d been a better father overall, _hope_ that they won’t both die before he has a chance to apologize to them for all the ways he’s ruined things.

"I’m sure they know, Herc," Raleigh says softly, catching the older pilot off guard; he hadn’t been aware he was speaking out loud. "And you haven’t ruined everything, or them, either. Sure, he’s abrasive and kind of a dick, but Chuck’s a good guy. Okay," he concedes when Herc gives him a _look_ , because _really_ , “so a lot of a dick, but still good on the inside. Don’t worry about it, okay? They’re gonna be fine.”

Warmth envelops his hand, and Herc has exactly two seconds to feel shocked about the fact that Raleigh has threaded their fingers together and is offering him a reassuring squeeze before the blond blushes and pulls his hand back.

They sit in a silence that feels like it should be awkward—after all, up until just under two weeks ago, Herc hadn’t seen Raleigh in almost five years—yet somehow isn’t.

And if Herc’s hand finds Raleigh’s again, fingers not lacing together but grips still linking regardless, well—

That’s his business, isn’t it? Besides, the other man was offering.

 

*****

 

Three hours later, a doctor appears to tell them that the surgery was a success, and that both boys are in recovery. Mako had come by roughly an hour previously, giving both Herc and Raleigh hugs, though she’d leveled Raleigh with a look that made the younger pilot blush and squirm uncomfortably under her gaze; Herc had laughed, and Raleigh’s blush had deepened as he’d muttered a soft, petulant “Shut up…” Raleigh’s copilot had left soon after, though, citing a need to sleep. Herc had wanted to object, wanted to point out that he knew Chuck was a friend of hers, that it was midday, but something in her eyes made the words catch in his throat. He’d simply nodded at the Japanese woman, wishing her sweet dreams, and she’d nodded back gratefully.

Raleigh and Herc are led back to the recovery room Max and Chuck are sharing, the nurse telling them that the two boys are coming out of anesthesia, so they likely won’t be awake for an hour or so at least. However, when they arrive, Max is smiling drunkenly at them, and Herc frowns slightly before it hits him: Shifter metabolism. Kid’d probably cleared the drugs out of his system faster than they’d expected.

"Toldja it’d work, Dad," he slurs happily before his gaze shifts to Raleigh. "Did I ever tell you you’re really pret—real pret—I like how y’look." He giggles, adding, "Nuh, no, was dog," before the giggles take over completely.

"Max," Herc admonishes his son softly, coming to his bedside and placing a hand lovingly on the kid’s cheek, thumb grazing over the prominent arch, "hush now. Get some rest, kiddo."

Max’s smile immediately shifts into a slight frown, and his head swivels until he’s looking over at Chuck.

"Want Chuck," the youngest Hansen says softly, reaching out one trembling limb towards his brother.

"Max, love, you shouldn’t move," Herc tries to reason with his son. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Raleigh take the seat beside Chuck’s bed. "Hell, you shouldn’t even really be awake yet."

Max makes a whining sound more suited to a dog than a person. “Want Chuck, Daddy. Please?”

The older Hansen casts a helpless look over at Raleigh, who’s been paying rapt attention to the exchange, and the blond shrugs at him. Right. So helpful. Herc sighs, turning back to his son.

"If we push your beds together, would that be good enough?"

When Max nods, Raleigh stands, and Herc sends him a grateful look as he leans down and plants a soft kiss on his son’s forehead.

"Alright, love, hold tight for a minute, eh?"

Max grins and licks his jaw, nodding. Herc can practically see the questions brimming in Raleigh’s eyes, but he ignores them in favor of gesturing to the beds and muttering, “Give me a hand, Becket.”

When they’ve managed to move Max’s bed so that it’s pushed against his brother’s, the younger Hansen twin immediately starts shifting his hips and shoulders, crawling on his back until he’s wrapped around Chuck’s sleeping form. He falls off to sleep again almost immediately with a murmured, “Thank you, Daddy. G’night.”

There are a few moments of silence in which Herc takes in the sight of his boys, together. They look so peaceful. Some part of his mind catalogs the fact that they still have almost the same face, the same nose, brow line, and mouth, and he wonders if those lips will feel the same wrapped around his—

He shakes his head to dispel those thoughts, guilt worming its way into his belly because now is most _certainly_ not the time for such things; more like never.

The quiet is shattered when Raleigh lets out a soft, “So… Max?”

Herc shakes his head, gesturing at the chair Raleigh had previously occupied.

"Might wanna take a seat, mate. This’ll take a while to explain."

 


	4. Raleigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it's Friday!

A while is an understatement. Herc keeps having to go back and explain things he took for granted as common knowledge, that were not in fact in Raleigh’s opinion, actually common knowledge. After, it takes a solid hour at least before Raleigh actually _believes_ him. It’s not the out there concept of shifters, because he’s heard of them. It’s the fact that they’re a family of them. Okay, Raleigh knew shifters happened through genetics. That you had to be born of them to even have the chance to be one. That it was one long, noble line from some ancient magic king or something - he was never sure on the origin story and was sure even shifters themselves didn’t know and probably just liked to fuck with people actually, when it came to it. No, what made it difficult to believe was that all along the happy bulldog they’d been traveling the world with, the mascot to Australia’s greatest Jaeger achievement was actually Herc Hansen’s youngest son, Chuck’s identical twin.

In the classic daze of the overly informed, he finds himself asking Herc what Chuck is. Herc informs him he’ll have to find that one out for himself. Because apparently, Chuck hasn’t shifted in over ten years. Raleigh asks if it hurts not to and Herc’s face scrunches up as he looks away. Raleigh is considering prodding him for answers, because he seems to know a lot about it, despite the fact that he himself is only a carrier. But the twins interrupt.

Max - and Raleigh isn’t sure if it’s just the shifter blood or because his has been so active - wakes immediately as Chuck shifts uncomfortably. Chuck’s been slower to respond, and for a while Herc could only cast mournful, plaintive looks at him as he spoke. Chuck’s body _is_ healing though, and as far as they can tell, is showing no signs of rejecting Max’s liver.

He makes a pained sound and Max nuzzles him against the jaw. Herc reaches out to lay his hand to Chuck’s arm, but it moves away abruptly as his son reaches for the body pressed against his. It doubles up over his head, as if to scoop a bulldog to his chest and he freezes, eyes flying open and head jerking to the side, as his hand fails to find what he was so obviously expecting.

“Max,” he puffs in disbelief, voice ragged.

Max smiles, rolling onto his side and pressing flat against him. He knows he isn’t supposed to - the doctors, nurses, and Herc all telling him he needs to keep still or he’ll pop his stitches - but Raleigh’s pretty sure he doesn’t care.

He reaches for his twin’s face, holding his eyes. Chuck’s are having trouble focusing, but Max’s are clear. “Chuck,” he whispers, all broken and happy, and Raleigh can feel it pull at something in his gut. And then he’s kissing him. It’s nothing more than a chase press of lips, more like he knocked his own against Chuck’s in some parrot of a motion. But, Chuck reaches up and loses his hand in ginger hair and drags him closer, tilting his head.

“Chuck,” Herc admonishes when Max squeaks in surprise and squirms in the hold. He reaches out and disentangles them gently. “Behave,” he adds, though it’s said so fondly, Raleigh isn’t sure he really means it.

“ _Max,_ " Chuck says, fingers scrubbing against the base of his twin’s head. Max tilts it back into the touch, eyes closing in bliss. "You came back to me."

“I never left you,” Max says breathlessly.

It’s a really inappropriate time to have a physical reaction, and Raleigh sort of wishes he’d be struck by lightning or swallowed into the floor, he’s so embarrassed. He hopes they’re all too busy with their family reunion to notice, but when he dares to look up again, Herc is looking at him. He can’t read it, and he’s not sure whether he should be concerned by it. He doesn’t feel particularly threatened, just…under scope. He shifts in his seat, straightening slightly.

“I’m just…” he says to Herc, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “Sandwiches okay?”

Herc nods.

He’s never been more grateful to leave a room in his life. He holds his breath, trying to will down his body so it won’t be glaringly obvious as he stands. But he’s pretty sure he failed, because he’d not taken two steps before he hears an accusatory, “Becket?”

He can tell it’s Chuck from the inflection, and he pauses only a moment to turn and flash a smile at him before making it out the door.

“What the hell’s he doing here?” he hears Chuck say as he clears it, pressing against the wall to give his heart a minute to stop pounding quite so frantically.

“Raleigh really likes you, you know,” Max says, as if it’s a fact that should brook no argument.

Chuck grunts - though pressed against the wall as he is Raleigh can’t tell if it’s because of something Max did or as a general response.

“You like him back,” Max tells him pointedly. “You should be nicer to him.” There’s a pause and Max adds softly, “He has really nice hands.”

Raleigh flushes darkly and makes his escape. Just in case Herc decides to come find out just _how_ nice. Really, he thinks as he all but bolts down the stairs, could he help it if he’d thought Max was just a dog?! Everyone thought Max was a dog! All dogs liked belly rubs!

Oh God…what had he _said_ to him?! He’d babbled, he knew. Falling into that Man’s Best Friend trap all dogs were so good at. Cocked head and emotional eyes and the way they nuzzled close until you spilled every last aching part of your soul. And he…he had a lot to talk about. Still does, if he lets himself think about it.

He’s never going to be able to look a dog in the eye again.

 


	5. Herc

It’s four days before the doctors discharge Max, even going so far as to say he could probably get his stitches out inside of a week. They’re still holding Chuck for observation, though, apparently making sure that the remaining treatments for radiation sickness are actually taking. Miraculously, he’d come out of the battered escape pod with nothing worse than a few cracked ribs where he’d been rattled in the pod and a mild concussion. He’s not healing as fast as his brother, and when Raleigh asks him about it, Herc explains that Chuck not shifting for ten years—which is another issue all on its own that he’s not going to even think about yet, because one thing at a time, Hansen—has left his healing slightly impaired compared to other shifters, though it’s certainly faster than most humans'. However, it’s not the ribs that are concerning the doctors—with the osteoblast-stimulating injections they’ve been sticking into his son’s chest every few hours, his ribs healed in a matter of days—but more the incision from having dead sections of his liver removed and healthy sections of his twin’s liver attached to replace them.

Raleigh’s constant presence is probably the only thing that keeps Herc sane, for more than the obvious reasons.

Chuck is, of course, completely insufferable.

"Can’t you just fuckin’ _take_ me out?” he asks for what is probably the fifth time that hour, voice grating as he scowls from where he’s propped the bed up. “You’re the bloody _Marshal_ now, old man.”

"Chuck," Max chides his brother gently, shuffling closer on the bed so that their sides are flush with one another as he reaches out a hand to scratch playfully at his twin’s shorter locks, "you need to stay and get better. The doctors said so."

"But ‘m fuckin’ _bored_ ,” Chuck whines, waving the arm not wrapped around Max’s shoulders emphatically. “There’s nothing t’ _do_ in here!”

"No," Herc says emphatically. "Doctor’s orders, Chuck. That goes over even my head as Marshal."

"But—"

Max shuts his brother up with a broad swipe of his tongue across the older twin’s cheek, effectively distracting him. Chuck lets out a huff and a soft, “Not like that Maxie, like this,” before he’s tilting his head towards his brother and brushing their lips together sweetly.

Herc spares a moment to wonder how exactly this has become a thing his sons do. After all, they’d always been close growing up, but… never like this. He knows it didn’t exactly develop in the last ten years while Max was a dog, which means…

Which means it’s probably an emotional holdover from when they were younger, he realizes with a start. And given the nature of his and Chuck’s relationship after they started piloting together… Well…

It’s hardly a surprise, he finds himself thinking wryly.

It also sends a spike of heat curling through his belly, which is followed almost immediately by a twist of shame. However, when Chuck pulls back and looks over at Herc expectantly, the shame diffuses until it’s hardly noticeable. Even so, it is still present enough that the smile that’s drawn onto his face doesn’t feel entirely genuine, and he shakes his head gently from side to side. Chuck scowls, and Herc can almost hear the words his son is holding back as confusion, annoyance, and arousal pulse across their suddenly-alight ghost drift, but the sensations fade as soon as they come when Max lets out a contented sound and traces his brother’s jaw with his tongue, effectively distracting the older twin.

When Herc turns towards Raleigh, he can see the older man looking at his boys on the bed with, well, several emotions clear in his eyes. The American really should work on being less of an open book, he muses.

"Becket," he mutters, grabbing the other man’s attention, sending a pointed look towards Max and Chuck where they’re cuddled together, chests rising and falling in sync, before he hardens his eyes at the blond, "come get some bloody coffee with me. ‘M beat."

It’s not an unreasonable request. It is, after all, about four in the afternoon, and he’s been dealing with Chuck’s restlessness since almost eight in the morning. So, when Raleigh nods, Herc steers them out into the hallway, the blond following with an expression akin to a kicked puppy. Herc honestly doesn’t know why the other pilot has stuck around this long, but he intends to find out—well, that’s not entirely true: he has a theory, but no proof.

"So, Becket," he starts, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms in front of himself once he’s put on a pot of coffee in the small room set aside for visitors, the ancient machine making strange gurgling sounds as it heats the water, "what exactly are your intentions towards my sons, eh?"

Herc’s not sure if he’s more surprised that Raleigh doesn’t look surprised at the question or by his actual answer. Instead of blushing and spluttering out a denial or dodging the question entirely, the blond shrugs his shoulders.

"I don’t know, sir. I care for them—well, at least, for Chuck, sir, as I’m sure Max has told you—"

"Max might’ve mentioned something like that, yeah," Herc interrupts him, leaving out the part where Max distinctly remembers a certain belly rub from the American where Raleigh’d confessed that he wanted to kiss Chuck’s, how had he put it? ‘Stupid asshole mouth?’ Something like that. "But that’s not what I asked. I know you," he coughs lightly, "have feelings for my eldest. So, aside from questioning your sanity, my question is what you intend to do about it."

That _does_ get a blush out of Raleigh, and he clears his throat nervously, ducking his head.

"I don’t know. They seem to be rather, uhm, _attached_ , to each other already. I don’t want to intrude on their, ah, re-forming relationship, sir.”

Herc stares at Raleigh for a few moments, then finally opens his mouth and murmurs, “Becket, my boys were eleven when Max shifted and stayed. If you think they’re ‘re-forming’ anything at this point…” he puts not-so-subtle, mocking emphasis on the word, letting his glare speak for him as to how idiotic he thinks the American is being.

"Max ‘n Chuck were always close," he continues when Raleigh still doesn’t say anything, just blushes a deeper shade of red and stares at his feet, "so, do I find it a bit odd that the first thing Chuck did was kiss Max when he saw’m? Not really. He did always love that dog too damn much. Don’t think he ever really stopped seeing his brother in there, to be honest. ‘N Max was there for him more’n I was, so…" he trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He hadn’t been the best of fathers, he knows that. And that’s without even getting into the nature of his relationship with Chuck before this. A relationship his son is still, seemingly, interested in continuing, which is a whole different issue Herc still isn’t letting himself think about. Instead, he refocuses on Raleigh.

"So, for the third time, what do you intend to do about how you feel about Chuck?"

"Nothing, sir," Raleigh answers after a pause. "I… I don’t want to come between them."

"And if they should seek you out?"

The question makes the American’s eyebrows furrow together.

"They?"

Herc rolls his eyes.

"Yes, they. Both of 'em. I have it on good authority that they may both feel… something… for you. If you tell either of them about this, by the way," he glares at the blond in question, "I will tear you apart, Becket."

He thinks perhaps he’s broken the blond, because he doesn’t answer for a moment, simply gapes. But, then,

“ _Both_ of them?”

Herc growls in frustration, throwing his hands into the air and cursing softly, his tirade cut off by the sounds of the coffee machine gurgling to a finish. He pours himself a cup of the steaming-hot liquid, takes a scalding sip to calm his nerves, and then finally grits out, “Yes, Becket. Both of them. If you hurt them,” he cuts his gaze sideways at the American, “they’ll never find your body.”

The laugh Raleigh gives him is genuine enough, though Herc can see the spark of fear in its depths, and he grins internally. Mission accomplished.

 


	6. Max

There are things Max knows. People like to think that because he spent half his life - and the entirety of his young adult years, which are important to people for some reason - as a dog that he doesn’t understand. It’s actually the opposite. He’ll admit there are things that confuse him. Like the need to wear such heavy boots and the purpose of underwear, and lying - he’ll never understand lying. But the important things, like love and forgiveness and tenderness, those are things he thinks _other_ people need help with. He has them well in hand.

There are things being a dog prepares you for. There are skills he thinks, maybe only dogs can have in any great supply. Patience. Understanding. Unconditional love and undying affection. Devotion. Loyalty. Selflessness. It isn’t that he thinks he is more or less than anyone else. He’s just been luckier than most. Living ten years as a dog may have made it difficult for him to understand many things, but it has also been the greatest in depth instruction he has ever had. He’s a better person for having been a dog. He knows this. And there are times he can’t help but be frustrated with everyone around him for being unwilling to bend to simple things. Like their own emotions.

Feelings are easy. Max understands feelings. Even when someone is trying to hide what they’re feeling, it’s just as easy to see what they’re really all about if you know how to look. Max has always been good at reading people, even before he spent over a decade as a dog. Now…now he thinks it’s just _too_ easy. And more people should spend time learning the skill.

Raleigh Becket is lonely. Max knows this. Even with his new co-pilot and the return of status and the respect of his peers, he is still lonely. Mako is sad. She pretends she isn’t, but Max has noticed others have noticed and he’s left them to it. He and Mako have always been friends - well, he was a dog, but she was always kind to him - but he knows enough to know he doesn’t know how to talk to her. And short of shifting and going to her - which may or may not work now that everyone knows - he doesn’t know what else to do. Chuck is in pain, but it’s not just physical. There are parts of Chuck that haven’t healed. And parts of him that refuse to heal. And parts of him he hasn’t even realized got hurt. Max knows, because Max has always been with him and he knows his twin almost as well as their dad does.

Dad…Dad is confused. And guilty - about what Max can’t tell. And angry sometimes, though never at them. And…resigned. To what, Max still needs to figure out.

It was easier when he was a dog. People will tell a dog things they won’t even tell themselves. And Max has been many a weary, lost souls’ touch stone. They’d snuggle him and pet him and talk and talk and talk until they felt better. It’s true when a shifter is in one form too long they tend to lose themselves in it, but there are still the impressions left, and when he tries hard enough, he can almost remember. Max has heard a lot of secrets. And for that, he thinks people avoid him now.

“What?” Chuck asks when he brings it up, confused. His eyebrow is quirked and he’s frowning and Max sighs and says it again.

“I want to drift with you.”

“Max…”

He shakes his head, adamant. “No, Chuck. I already know. You know I do. And I want to know _more._ "He leans into his twin, half sprawled across his front to keep his eyes. "And there are things _you_ need to know.” He nuzzles him, because Chuck has never been able to hold out against a good nuzzle. “Please, Charlie,” he whispers and Chuck’s arms come up to squeeze about him tightly, as if, if he lets go Max will disappear. He licks his jaw to reassure him and Chuck laughs softly.

“No Max,” he chides gently, catching Max by the chin and lifting gently. “I told you. Like this.”

Max leans into the kiss, but the press of lips does nothing for him, and after a moment or two he licks Chuck across the mouth. His twin makes a soft sound and opens it, his own tongue darting out to catch Max across his upper lip. It feels nice. His body warm and tingly. He presses close and their tongues touch and he can’t help the sound that escapes him then. He’s so surprised by how _good_ it feels.

“Chuck…” he rasps, hands clutching his twin close.

“Shh..” Chuck soothes and rubs their noses together. “It’s okay Max, I’ve got you.”

“Chuck,” he murmurs, a fire in his belly as he presses closer.

Later he asks again. Chuck says yes this time. “But, we’re gonna have a hell of a time getting the old man to agree,” he explains, hand stroking over Max’s head and down his neck and back again.

Max is having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “He’ll say yes,” he replies, sure.

“I hope so,” is all Chuck says before he presses his face into Max’s hair and inhales.

He will, Max knows. Because their father might be unsure about a lot of things. But he loves them. Loves them more than he thinks he should. And that’s okay, because sometimes you can love someone so much it hurts.

Max should know.

 


	7. Chuck

Dying has a way of changing you, Chuck thinks to himself.

Okay, so he didn’t _die_ , exactly, but he’d been pretty damn sure for a while that he was dead. Returning to consciousness with his brother—his _brother_ , not his _dog_ —at his side had been probably one of the single best things that’d happened to him in the past ten years. When he’d actually _seen_ Max, taken in his twin’s features, in the moment he’d felt such a rush of joy-relief-longing- _love_ that he’d done what felt natural, which had been to accept the press of lips against his own, and then… more. He and Max had always been close as kids, exchanging brief presses of lips—whether to other lips or a cheek or a forehead depended entirely upon the moment—as greetings and farewells. Turning it into an actual kiss had felt… right in that moment. Chuck doesn’t waste any time dwelling on it, or bothering to regret it. After all, when you’ve been fucking—or, more often than not, getting fucked by—your father for the past three years, you tend to gain a different perspective on something as comparatively small as kissing your brother.

Chuck figures he’s fucked up, but so what? Who in the world isn’t? And after all this shit, who’s to tell him he can’t have this?

Still, even with the knowledge that Max has told him he’s here for him, that his brother has shifted back after _ten fucking years_ , that a piece of Max is now, always and forever, inside of him, keeping him alive, there’s still a kernel of doubt gnawing at the back of his mind that this is fleeting: that Max is going to shift back any day now and not come back again. Which is why, even after Max’s stitches come out but Chuck is still bed-ridden by the doctors’ orders, Chuck is so careful with what he talks about when Max is around. He doesn’t want to let slip that, oh yeah, by the way, he may or may not have put his legs up for their father, and may or may not have done the same to Herc on more than one occasion. Explaining to Max how he knows from more than the drift that the man who made them is one of the most considerate lovers he’s ever heard of is not a conversation he wants to have, least of all in front of Becket. And, _of course_ , Max remembers the one-sided conversations they used to have when he was a bulldog: how, back when he was barely fourteen, Chuck would plaster Gipsy Danger posters to his wall, and proceed to tell Max just how awesome—and how fucking _pretty_ —the Becket brothers were. Also, he’s fairly certain that Max’d been there several times when he’d jerked off to those same posters, once or twice maybe even murmuring Raleigh’s name as he came.

It also doesn’t help when Max assures him that Raleigh may or may not feel the same way, and that the American—christ on a fucking stick—has _really nice hands_.

Yeah, totally not helping anything.

It’s almost inevitable, then, that he starts to lash out as his father. It’s an age-old defense mechanism that has gotten the two of them through tougher times: Chuck encounters something he can’t deal with, and Herc takes the brunt of it. Although perhaps, this time, lashing out is a bit strong for what he does. Instead of seeking to upset Herc, it’s almost like he’s only trying to annoy the man beyond all reason. Admittedly, he _is_ bored, but not _that_ bored. And, of course, his body slowly starts to remind him, hey, it’s been nearly two weeks since he’s gotten laid. The looks he sends his father start shifting, against his will, from angry and abrupt to something more like longing—practically _pining_. Which will not fucking do, because Chuck fucking Hansen does _not_ fucking _pine_.

And then, because his brother seems to be obsessed with finding new ways of absolutely _torturing_ him, when his father and Raleigh step out to get coffee, Max asks to drift with him.

His kneejerk reaction is _no_ , there’s no way he’s exposing Max—sweet, tender-hearted Max—to what he and his father had done. If anything is guaranteed to send his brother scurrying back to being a bulldog forever, it would be that. Except…

Max already knows.

The knowledge makes something cold and nauseating drop in Chuck’s stomach. And, yeah, sure, he’d figured that Max knew, on some level—after, they hadn’t always been quiet, and he’s sure they’d woken the bulldog on more than one occasion with their swearing and moaning—but having it just confirmed like that, on top of his brother saying that he wants to know _more_ …?

Chuck agrees eventually, though he’s still not sure how he feels about it.

After that, it’s almost another week before Chuck’s stitches are taken out and he’s released from the hospital. Another week of cuddling with his brother, of him determinedly ignoring the way the sight of his father is making something _hot_ and _needy_ claw in his belly. Another week of trying to make sense of the feelings in his head every time he notices something new about Becket, like the way any time the blond catches sight of Chuck and Max together, his right hand twitches towards his left arm. Another week of Max fucking insisting he tell Raleigh about said feelings, no matter how much Chuck insists that it’s been fucking _years_ since he was that hormonal teenager, and, really, he doesn’t know where he stands on that anymore.

Another week of both he and his father treating Max as tenderly as they possibly can, ultimately granting him almost anything he wants because Chuck knows they’re both afraid he’s going to shift back again. In the end, Chuck’s almost positive that’s why Herc agrees to the two of them drifting, though the elder twin doesn’t miss the hesitation he sees in his father’s eyes, nor does he miss the quick pulse of trepidation across the remnants of their ghost drift.

 

*****

 

The day he goes home—well, back to their shared quarters, at any rate—is probably the second happiest moment Chuck has had since waking up. The happiest, of course, was finding Max beside him again. He’s let go with strict orders to take it easy for the next few days and to come in immediately should he start to get upset stomachs or if either Herc or Max notice him becoming jaundiced. They also try to offer him a wheelchair, saying that the redhead should relax as much as possible so that he doesn’t stress the still-weak tissue sealing his wounds.

His glare is an effective enough deterrent.

When he reaches their room, his father and brother each helping to support him while Raleigh opens doors for them and pushes a path through the hallways, it’s to find his side in complete disarray. His clothes are strewn about the floor and on his desk, and his side of the bed is clearly being used, if the rumpled pillow and wrinkled sheets are any indication. He doesn’t even get to open his mouth to ask what the _hell_ has happened to his fucking stuff before Max is answering.

“I’ve been wearing your clothes,” his younger brother explains, looking down, ears turning slightly red, “and, uh, using your side of the room. Dad ‘n I haven’t had a chance to go buy new stuff yet. ‘M sorry. I didn’t know where you put anything, so…”

He trails off, and Chuck feels a surge of affection sweep through him. He can’t stay mad at that fucking face. So he does what comes so naturally after these few weeks, and cups his brother’s jaw and plants a soft kiss on the lips beneath those plaintive eyes. Max, as always, makes a little grunting sound that Chuck has come to realize means that he’s simply… reacting, the sounds quickly followed by his brother’s tongue asking for entrance. Chuck gladly opens his mouth and grants it, their tongues intertwining, which is about when Max always makes a happy sort of sighing sound.

It’d taken the older Hansen twin a lot of thought, but he’s pretty sure that Max, so used to being a dog, equates licking more with affection than _desire_. Which, then, means that when a low burn starts to build in his gut, he pulls back. It doesn’t help that Max makes an absolutely _delighted_ sound when one of Chuck’s hands comes up to grip lightly at the collar his brother still insists on wearing. The elder Hansen twin’s eyes almost instinctively come to rest on their father. Their father who is watching them with a hawk-like gaze and something tantalizingly _familiar_ glowing in his eyes. Before he can let himself think about that—no matter how much he may want to, and _christ_ they really are fucked up, aren’t they?—Chuck returns his attention to his brother.

“It’s alright, Maxie,” he says softly, plastering a grin on his features. “S’not a big deal.”

The brilliant smile and soft, almost timid, “Thanks, Chuck,” he gets is worth the nagging itch at the back of his mind to put everything where it fucking _belongs_. He can always do it later. Preferably after a nap.

 

*****

 

A nap turns into about four hours of the most restful sleep Chuck has gotten in _weeks_. There’s nothing quite like sleeping in his own bed, let alone having his father at his back and his brother’s arms wrapped around him from the front as Max nuzzles into his collarbone. However, when they wake, Chuck can tell from the look in his brother’s eyes that he plans to collect on their promise from earlier. He doesn’t even bother trying to deny him, just turns around and glances at Herc, who sighs.

“S’time, then?” the older man asks.

“I guess so,” Chuck nods, trying to tamp down on the trepidation in his voice. “We did promise him, after all.”

With a heavy sigh, Herc nods as well, throwing the covers off of them and disentangling himself from the sheets. He doesn’t face them when he utters into the air, “Best get dressed, then, maybe grab some food. Gonna need it.”

Chuck wants to argue, wants to say that he doesn’t want anything in his stomach to heave up when Max inevitably realizes how much he prefers being a bulldog to this facsimile of a family life, but he nods as well before prodding his brother in the chest.

“Oi, move it, squirt,” he protests, going for gentle annoyance, “I gotta pee.”

Max just laughs at him, something sparkling deep within the depths of his eyes.

 

*****

 

Becket, for some reason, joins them for breakfast. When Chuck asks him where Mako is, Raleigh gets a faraway look on his face and says that she’s gone back to London to be with Stacker’s family. She’d apparently wanted to break the news to them herself, despite the fact that the stations have been running the story of their miraculous defeat of the Kaiju almost nonstop.

Chuck manages to force some shitty waffles down, and, before he knows what’s happening, he and his brother are being strapped into one of the old drift simulators down near J-Tech by Raleigh and his father. Chuck has no doubt he and Max are drift compatible—it’s not even a question, really. No, the unease currently churning in his gut has more to do with the things he knows he won’t be able to hide from his brother. It’s one thing to know that your brother and father have been sleeping together for several years, it’s another entirely to actually experience it through one of them. Herc, who’s the one responsible for hooking up Chuck’s leads, gives his son a tight, pained smile as he makes sure the Pons is positioned correctly, and Chuck doesn’t need the ghost drift between them to know that his father is thinking the same thing as he is.

A giggle from Max draws both their gazes, and Chuck feels something warm replace the panic when he sees Max smiling at something Raleigh had said.

“No, really, I’m not scared,” the younger twin is assuring the blond with a wide smile. “I’m excited! It’ll be fun to learn what I missed when I was a dog. Probably fill in some of the gaps between the things I do remember.”

Those words are accompanied by a pointed look at the American pilot, and, though Chuck can’t see his face from this angle, he sees the tips of Raleigh’s ears turn pink.

“Right,” the blond coughs, “uh, well, it looks like you’re good, so,” he moves to step away, but Max reaches out and grabs him by the arm.

“Thanks,” the redhead tells him with a soft smile, tugging. The force must surprise Raleigh—Chuck knows his brother isn’t _that_ strong yet—because he pitches forward far enough that Max can reach up and pull him in for a quick lick along his stubble-worn cheek. “Really, I mean it, Raleigh,” he adds. “Thank you for being here for us.”

The tips of Raleigh’s ears are so red that Chuck can practically see them radiating heat.

“Right, enough of that,” Herc calls out, and Chuck shakes his head to clear it, wondering when the hell his father had moved over to the control console, “let’s get this show on the road, then.”

And then Chuck is in the drift.

 

*****

 

He and Max are more drift compatible than Chuck could’ve ever dreamed.

Their memories flow over one another, all the carefully constructed walls that the older twin had tried to build to keep some of the darker secrets from his brother crumbling the instant they fall together.

_The day that Herc had come to Chuck and asked if he wanted to pilot a Jaeger together. There was a new Mark V waiting for a pair of pilots and, after the eldest Hansen had ‘taken care of’ his brother, they were wondering if Herc wanted to pick a new copilot for her. “It doesn’t change anything between us, old man,” Chuck had said, venom in his words and hatred swimming in his veins._

_Screaming at their father why isn’t mom here where’s mom why didn’t we get mom while Max just sits quietly beside him, a forlorn kind of understanding in his eyes that makes Chuck want to scream, so he does exactly that. Which is, of course, the moment that a second sun rises up over the horizon, and Chuck’s entire world crumbles with it._

_Running through the house with Max, who had just learned how to shift, the younger Hansen’s tongue lolling as Chuck tries in vain to evade him, squealing happily the entire time._

_“Max? C’mon, it’s time for bed. Quit fooling around, squirt, you need to shift back. You know the rules—”_

_“Please, Max? Please, for me? I need you, buddy, c’mon, please—”_

_Fire in his veins as his body tries desperately to force him into another shape, the taste of blood on his tongue. His father crouching down at his eye level, pleading with him to just shift, just_ once _, and then it’ll stop, but he_ has to shift _. Biting down on his tongue as he flings a swear word he’d heard one of the other trainees use into his father’s face._

_Their first kill, the remnants of the drift_ roaring _between them, calling for a release of some kind. Realizing as they strip out of their suits that touching each other makes it better. Going to his knees in front of his protesting father, knocking away the older man’s hands when he’d tried to pull him back to his feet._

_The taste of his father’s release as it’d poured down his throat, and the simultaneous feeling of his own orgasm shattering through him from the feedback pouring over their ghost drift._

_The feeling of Herc’s cock buried inside of him after their fourth kill, the first time the eldest Hansen had allowed it to happen. How_ right _it’d felt, how Chuck finds himself wishing that they didn’t need a Kaiju attack to do this._

_The first time he gets his wish. It had been his nineteenth birthday._

_The sick arousal that rises in him when he thinks about the fact that it’s his_ father’s _cock buried inside of him, how the wrongness of it just gets him off even more._

_Learning through the drift that his old man gets off on it, too._

Chuck knows where this leads, tries desperately to steer them away from it, but Max is relentless, forcing them deeper. Chuck resigns himself, and hangs on for dear life, trying not to scream.

_The night Chuck had asked Herc to not be gentle, to just_ take _him. How it’d felt better than anything he’d ever known, the rush he’d gotten when Herc had pinned his wrists and_ pounded _into him._

_The first time Chuck had accidentally called Herc “Daddy” during sex, begging him to “Fuck me, Daddy, please, I need you to fill me up.” How Herc had come on the spot._

_The morning Chuck had woken his father by seating himself on his old man’s cock, using no lube except the cum he’d managed to keep inside using the plug he’d forced into himself before he’d fallen asleep._

_The first time they kiss, all tongue and teeth and writhing, sweaty bodies tangling together._

_The first time they_ kiss _, not even during sex, just one morning as Chuck blinks his eyes open to find Herc gently placing their lips together. The sparks that had shot through Chuck’s entire body; how he’d wanted to just surrender to that feeling, but had instead pushed his father away with a complaint about morning breath._

_How he’d kissed Herc afterwards, because he couldn’t stand the forlorn look on the older man’s face, thinking Chuck had rejected him._

_The day that Chuck begins to entertain the idea that he might be in love with his father. The walls he constructs, mentally, to ensure that Herc never finds out. His horror and relief when, during their next drift, he finds out anyway._

_How Herc kisses him in their room later, gentle and slow, for the entire night, loving Chuck with his hands and mouth and making him come without touching his cock or even removing his underwear._

He can feel Max’s amazement, and his younger brother projects a few images to him of what some of those same memories had been like from his perspective. For the most part, they’re nothing but the scent of arousal and faint murmuring as the bed creaks, though Max clearly knows that there’s more to the action that pure lust—can _sense_ , somehow, the love that’s being shared.

‘ _So, that’s what it means?_ ’ he asks Chuck. ‘ _When you put our lips together like that? Does it always feel that good for you?_ ’

‘ _Yes,_ ’ the older twin answers without hesitation. ‘ _Always. It means you feel strongly for someone. Why, what is it like for you?_ ’

There’s a pause, and then Max sends, almost timidly, ‘ _Let me show you._ ’

 

*****

 

When they emerge from the simulators almost two hours later, a flood of memories, thoughts, and emotions drifting between them, Chuck looks at his brother with new eyes.

“You really are back, aren’t you?” he asks, almost reverently, removing his Pons and stepping out of the harness. Disbelief is still dancing in his stomach, but the smile Max sends him banishes it almost immediately.

“I told you, Dad needed me more than I needed to not be me. And now you need me, too,” the blush that crawls onto his brother’s face at those words is _not_ adorable, Chuck admonishes himself, no way, “so, yeah. I’m staying. You two are stuck with me.”

Chuck practically tears the remaining leads off his brother in his haste to get to him, and holds him tight as the tears he hasn’t yet allowed himself begin to fall. He hears his father and Raleigh both asking what happened, is he okay, but he ignores them in favor of squeezing Max even more tightly.

 

*****

 

That night, as he lies in bed, sleep pulling at the edge of his awareness as his brother snuggles closer to his chest and his father’s heart beats at his back, Chuck allows himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they can make this work.

 


	8. Raleigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently the "date updated" on this fic wasn't updating before. Hopefully that wasn't causing issues for anyone. If it did, terribly sorry! D':

If Raleigh’s honest with himself, he’s known for a while. It isn’t as if the youngest Hansen is subtle. He hasn’t known Max the  _person_ for very long, but he’d be willing to bet it has less to do with the decade spent as a canine and more to do with Max’s innate personality. Max is by far the most open of his family. He doesn’t seem to have a need for evasiveness or personal boundaries. Max opens his mouth and just tells it like it is. It’s refreshing and reminds Raleigh so much of Yancy that sometimes it physically  _aches_  to be in his presence and he finds himself scrubbing at his arm. The last physical traces of Yancy on the earth. The scars he’ll carry with him forever. The ones he knows Yancy would also have borne had he lived.

He isn’t in the best of moods when he knocks on their door in the morning. The drift had gone well, he supposes, because it wasn’t as if they’d  _shared_ any of it with him. Not that he’d been expecting them to. It was just that…to have that again. To touch minds with someone who’d known you since infancy. Who shared nearly all of your memories, played back at you from a different perspective, with different emotions…

The soft sounds of a struggle have him turning the handle and stepping inside without permission - something he’d  _never_ do ordinarily. Herc is standing beside the bed, hands out but still. As if he wanted to reach out but was afraid to. Max is on his knees, bowed over Chuck. He’s murmuring softly, stroking his twin’s arm as Chuck’s body jerks.

“Seizure?” he asks. “Should I code medical?”

They all look at him as if seeing him for the first time. Max recovers first, eyes going soft as he smiles. “No. Chuck’s okay.” He leans over and kisses his twin’s temple, a long pull of lips that is clearly different from how he’d been kissing just a day before. “We’re okay,” he murmurs gently into Chuck’s hair. “We’re okay.”

Herc collects himself, smoothing his hands over his bare chest as if there were a shirt to tug into place. There isn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing the motion. Raleigh tries not to pay attention to the way Herc’s body is still in its prime. The muscles all clearly defined and well tended. He reaches out to squeeze Max’s shoulder once before crossing over to Raleigh and taking him by the arm to lead him away. “Chuck shifted,” he explains without preamble.

Raleigh can feel his eyes widen.

“In his sleep. For the first time in…a long while. Too long some think.”

“Shh…” Max coos. He stretches out beside Chuck, aligning their bodies. His hands continue stroking, even after he tangles their legs. Chuck, Raleigh notices, is relaxing in the secure hold.

“Couldn’t shift back when he woke. Panicked. Max had t’ talk him through it.” He rakes a hand across his head, sending short spikes every which way. “For a moment I thought…” But he doesn’t finish, instead shaking his head and slapping Raleigh against the arm. “Come on, let’s get breakfast. We can eat it in bed.”

Raleigh follows without question, even as his mind spins. He can’t quite recall the trip to the canteen, or the collecting of food, or the balancing of trays between them as they make their way back. The twins have fallen into a light doze and Herc leaves Raleigh to guard their breakfast as he goes to take a shower and change.

He’s barely been in it a whole five minutes before Max wakes up. He noses Chuck, licks him fondly against the side of his mouth and eases himself up in his twins’ grasp. “You brought breakfast.”

Raleigh nods. “Your dad thought you’d be more comfortable-“

“Chuck will, yeah. Thanks.”

Raleigh picks the trays up and slides them over the bed across to them, fully intending to return to his seat at the foot of the bed. But Max catches him by the arm while he’s overbalanced and tugs. He doesn’t know what it says about him that an untrained civilian has been able to overtake him twice now, but he knows if it continues it’ll end up on his record. The combination of his ungraceful drop and the startled sound he makes as Max uses the hold on his arm - and he hadn’t realized shifters were actually so much  _stronger_ even in human form - wakes Chuck who groans and rolls onto his back, blinking up at them blearily.

“Max,” he rasps, voice husky from sleep, and probably pain his mind adds belatedly. “Why is Raleigh in your lap?”

It occurs to Raleigh suddenly that that is  _exactly_ where he is. His mind helpfully supplies that Max is in light sleep pants that have ridden very low on his hips, which does absolutely nothing for the lust that shot through him the moment Chuck opened his mouth. He flushes deeply, but finds himself incapable of scrambling free. Max only has one arm about him, but he tugs him closer until Raleigh’s ass fits snugly in the curve of his leg, groin to his backside. If there is a God, Raleigh thinks, he clearly hates him.

“Raleigh needs more attention,” is all Max says, and it doesn’t help matters at  _all_. He reaches past their legs and slides a tray close until it bumps his own knee. Lifting a slice of bacon free, he holds it up to Raleigh’s mouth. Prods the end against his lips when he doesn’t open it. “Bacon’s your favorite,” he informs him, as if Raleigh’s forgotten. The bacon pokes him in the lip again and Raleigh decides it’s best to just go with it. Max makes a pleased sound when Raleigh takes a bite. He feeds him the entire bacon slice in careful bites under Chuck’s watchful gaze. Then shifts slightly to lick the corner of his mouth, catching a bacon crumb. Raleigh is certain it’s just a holdover from being a dog. Or he would have been if Chuck didn’t suck in a breath at the sight.

“You should eat too,” Max informs his twin. He passes him his tray and adds casually, “You can have Raleigh after. I hug better than you.”

Chuck clears his throat. “Thanks Max,” he drawls, and Raleigh’s at a loss to translate it. The elder twin simply reaches for the marmalade packet and tears it open.

“Raleigh,” Max says, head tilting against his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he manages to get out somehow.

Max swats him against the ass gently. “Turn around for a minute.”

“I should probably-“

“Max is the baby of the family,” Chuck says, eyes on his toast. “He gets what he wants.”

 _Or I’ll hurt you,_ Raleigh’s pretty sure is implied. He’s already kicked Chuck’s ass. But Chuck is not Herc. And if  _Herc_ finds out he’s upset Max enough to—He abruptly moves. He has to straddle him when Max tugs him closer insistently. There’s nowhere else to go. The bed isn’t very big, and he wonders for a moment if they’re all sharing it and how…

“Chuck taught me something yesterday,” Max says, bringing him back to the present. He winds his arms about Raleigh’s waist, holding him in a comfortable embrace.

Raleigh chances a glance sideways. Chuck has a single brow raised, but otherwise is mostly unresponsive. So he returns his gaze to Max’s. “Must have learned a lot,” he concedes. The drift had a way of info dumping whether you liked it or not.

Max nods. “Wanna know what I learned?” he asks. His fingertips are tracing nonsensical patterns against Raleigh’s spine, and it’s getting difficult to focus. He stretches as best he can - which has the unfortunate side effect of bringing their hips closer together for one strangling moment.

“Sure, Max,” he replies, adding, “If it’s not a family secret,” just in case.

Chuck shifts, the bed dipping slightly in the wake of his movement. Raleigh can feel him at his back, even if there’s still significant distance between them to keep them from physical contact. He has an odd sense that Chuck approves somehow, but it’s difficult to tell.

“It isn’t,” Max assures him.

“Okay.” His lower lip catches between his teeth for a moment in a nervous reflex. “Lay it on me.”

Bad choice of words, he realizes a moment later as Max kisses him. He’s so startled he doesn’t so much as jerk, which encourages the youngest Hansen. He presses into the kiss deeper, and  _really_ , Raleigh’s only human.

His hands curl into fists against Max’s pecs, and somehow, a moment later their mouths are open and Max’s tongue is sweeping in. Raleigh loses all sense of self preservation at that point. He kisses back. Tangles his tongue with Max’s as the younger lets out a low, purely sexual sound.

He’s on his back a moment later, being pressed into the bed. Max…Max…Max kisses better than anyone Raleigh’s ever kissed in his life and he’s been a  _dog_ for ten years! Raleigh doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that, feels his breath hitching. Max smoothes a hand over his heart and makes a sound so  _understanding_ that Raleigh actually does cry. He isn’t expecting to, and it sort of bursts out of him all at once.

“Max!” Chuck gasps, shoving at his brother’s shoulder. “Max, let him up!”

“No!” Max replies stubbornly, arms going tighter around Raleigh and crushing him against the bed.

“Max!” Chuck is up now, moving around them so he can yank at his twin’s shoulders. Max is the stronger of the two, despite his size in comparison to Chuck. And Chuck is still recuperating. All it gets him is a collapse into his twin’s back. “Max…Raleigh has PTSD. Do you know what that means?” he tries instead, panting slightly.

“Yes,” Max replies, and winds about Raleigh tighter.

“Max…” He smoothes a hand down his twin’s back, presumably following his spine. Raleigh can’t really see beyond the press of bodies and river of tears, and the way everything is blurring together. “You’re freaking him out.”

“Raleigh’s not scared,” Max insists, gently. “He’s not scared, Chuck.”

“Let him go, Max.”

“No. All anyone’s ever done is let him go, Chuck! He needs someone to hold on for once!”

Chuck is startled enough he doesn’t press any further.

By the time Raleigh comes back to himself, he’s being sandwiched by the brothers. Max’s arms tight about him and Chuck’s chest to his back, hands smoothing down either side of his spine.

“Becket?” Herc asks, warily.

Raleigh sniffs and tries to sit up but Max just crushes him closer.

“Max.”

“But Dad-“

“Let him up, Max.”

Max lets go reluctantly, arms still looped around him loosely as Raleigh pushes himself up. Chuck sits up with him, surprises him by pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

He looks over it at him, brow furrowing.

“You kept calling for Yancy,” Max informs him quietly. In the room however, it seems to echo loudly. Raleigh can feel his heart thudding hard in his chest. Hear the ocean in his ears.

Max sits up and nuzzles him against the ear. “It’s okay, Raleigh,” he says. “We understand.”

Raleigh wants to ask him  _how._ How is it possible that  _anyone_ could  ** _understand_** _._ And if it were anyone else, he may have. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Max. And Raleigh knows they do, in their own way.

“Breakfast is cold,” Herc says to break the silence a moment later.

“It’s lunch time anyway,” Chuck replies.

“I’m sor-“

“No apologies necessary,” Herc cuts him off, a hand up to forestall any arguing. He leans in, cups Raleigh by the chin and holds his eyes. “Do you feel better?”

He blinks, reaches in to assess and is surprised to find he does actually. A  _lot_ better. The best he’s felt since…

“Lunch,” Herc insists, standing. “Let’s go boys.”

Raleigh finds himself complying as easily, as readily as Herc’s own sons.

 


	9. Herc

The sounds his son makes after shifting for the first time in ten years will haunt Herc’s nightmares for weeks— _months—_ to come.

There are no words, just cries of pain mixed with abating panic, the vocalizations warbling strangely as Chuck’s body tenses and tries to contort into impossible shapes, as if attempting to somehow escape within. His first instinct is to draw Chuck into his arms, but his other son beats him to it. So Herc stands there, feeling useless as his older son’s body trembles and seizes, small whimpers issuing from between bitten lips as Max soothes it all away with a gentle hand.

And then Becket walks in, and Herc can see the way Max is begging him without words to go to the blond. He’s not sure whether his son means he wants him to explain, to distract the other pilot, or what, but Herc can’t keep himself still: just feels useless standing there, unable to do anything to help. So he does what he can, and explains what happened—most of it, anyway—to Becket. At some point in his explanation, he becomes cognizant of the fact that Raleigh is seeing all of them wearing nothing but their sleep clothes—which means he’s in nothing but old PPDC-issue sweats. As soon as the thought surfaces, his mind suddenly begins cataloguing the way the blond’s eyes, which are filled with concern and worry, will, if only for the briefest of seconds, track down to the his bare chest or over towards his sons. Some part of him preens internally at the attention—he manages to catch the urge to do so outwardly and strangle it ruthlessly—so, before he can make a fool of himself, he grabs a shirt and they get breakfast for the four of them.

When they return, the twins are curled up in the bed together, asleep, limbs twined about each other so tightly that even Herc has a hard time determining which of them is which. At least they aren’t kissing, he finds himself musing: though he doesn’t think ill of them for it or dislikethat they do it by any means, given his relationship with Chuck before—the things he’d allowed himself to feel—the sight has been getting progressively harder to deal with, no pun intended. In fact, if anything, it’s not so much the fact that his sons are kissing that he has a problem with, but the fact that he _doesn’t_ have a problem with his son’s kissing, even if—inasmuch as he can tell so far—it’s completely innocent. Some part of him, sick and twisted as he is, even _enjoys_ it.

“Mind the trays,” he instructs Raleigh, “and, if they wake, feed ‘em in bed, I guess. Chuck’s probably not up to gettin’ up just yet. ‘N if he is, don’t let ‘m.”

The blond had nodded, and Herc had sought the refuge of the shower and the relief of his left hand—and of _course_ that same sick, twisted part of his mind from before whispers that he hadn’t use his proffered hand simply to make it last longer. Remerging from the shower, though, he’d felt a cold weight rest in his stomach.

Max is on top of Raleigh, with Chuck worming his way under the American’s shaking form. Unless Herc is completely off base, it looks almost like the blond is having a panic attack.

“What happened?” he questions softly, not trusting himself to not make things worse.

Chuck manages to wiggle himself underneath Raleigh, and then he rearranges them so that the three of them are on their sides, Chuck’s front to the blond’s back, and Max’s front to his front.

“Raleigh needed someone to hold on to him,” Max says by way of explanation, and Herc watches as Chuck rolls his eyes at the explanation.

“Raleigh had an attack,” the elder twin fills in, rather needlessly, given that, well, _obviously_. Chuck’s tone indicates as much, too. “He—”

A sound rips its way from between Raleigh’s lips that shuts them all up and drowns any questions Herc might’ve still had. It sounds like something halfway between a sob and a scream, but held in so that it ultimately emerges as a barely-there cry. However, what shuts them all up and has them all focusing instantly on the blond, Herc is sure, is how fucking _broken_ it is. The eldest Hansen flashes back to the moment he’d broken in Max’s arms, when he’d still thought Chuck was gone, and a chill crawls up his spine.

The sound repeats itself, once, twice, three times, four—it just keeps going—and it’s then that Herc realizes that it’s not just a formless vocalization: Raleigh is saying something.

“Yance,” he cries out, chest heaving, tears streaming down his face from eyes that are too far away to actually be seeing anything, “Yance…”

Max makes a sound not unlike a whimper and holds the trembling blond closer while Chuck presses closed-mouth kisses to Raleigh’s shoulders through the fabric of his thin t-shirt. Herc takes a seat on the bed, hands reaching out of his own accord to card through the other pilot’s golden hair, trying to transmit as much comfort through the touch as he can.

After what feels like an impossibly long amount of time—a quick glance at the clock tells Herc that about an hour has passed since he and the blond returned from getting food—it seems to work. Under their combined ministrations, Raleigh’s cries become fewer and far between until, all at once, he quiets except for the sounds of heavy breathing and sniffles. When awareness flickers into those cotton blue eyes once again, Herc pulls his hand back. He has to convince Max to let the blond go enough that he can sit up, can escape the feeling of entrapment Herc sees growing in the lines of his face—and, christ, Becket is only _twenty_ six, not _thirty_ six; fucking war—and, of course, start trying to apologize once he realizes that their food has gone cold. Which Herc will have none of.

Instead, he leads them down to the mess for lunch, Raleigh following, his sons each attached to one of the blond’s hands.

“Sit,” Herc commands the three of them, indicating one of the tables on the second tier and near the wall besides. Not that it’s necessary to take a table that’s hidden away, since over half the ‘dome’s staff has left for a holiday now that the war is over. They’ll be back, he knows, in a few months, what with the continued training program and the renewed Jaeger construction efforts. No one actually thinks that the Kaiju will be back, at least not for a while, but the PPDC is taking no chances—not while they’re under Herc’s command, at any rate.

Chuck looks like he’s about to object, but Herc thins his lips and hardens his gaze enough that his son glowers but obeys. Max, of course, needs no encouragement, simply tugs at Raleigh’s arm gently until the blond follows, which is the point that Chuck stops resisting because it’s either that or let go of the American. Herc watches them go, and has a fleeting thought that they look _right_ together like that, somehow, but shakes his head to dispel it.

He piles two trays as high as he can without fearing for their balance, then brings it all over to their table. The boys all appear to be discussing something in depth, heads bowed together all on one side of the table; Herc catches what sounds like the tail end of another attempt at an apology from Raleigh, followed by a grumble from Chuck that Herc doesn’t need to hear the words to understand: he’s saying ‘I think you’re a fucking moron’ or something to that effect. The elder Hansen sets the trays down in front of the three of them, none of them seeming to notice his presence yet, before going back for actual utensils and several of the small boxes of milk that are served with every meal. He makes sure to grab at least three chocolate milks for Raleigh—figures that maybe something small will mean a lot at the moment—and one of the rare vanilla milks for Chuck. Kid’d had them for the first time at the Los Angeles Shatterdome when he’d been thirteen and Herc still piloted Lucky Seven with Scott, and he’d instantly fallen in love. And, of course, bloody Americans and their sweets: the PPDC only regularly supplied the things to the American ‘domes. Herc’d known his son to hoard the damn things when a new shipment came in. At the last second, he reaches back into the cooler and grabs another vanilla for Max; who knew, maybe he’d like them, too? And, if not, well, more for Chuck.

The clatter of silverware seems to break the three other men out of whatever conversation they’d been having, because, as one, they turn towards him as he sits across from them. Max, of course, lets out a loud thank you and starts piling food onto his plate. Chuck glares at Raleigh when the blond gestures for him to get his own food first, and Herc has to resist rolling his eyes because, had the American not done anything, he knows for a fact that Chuck would’ve shoved his way ahead of Raleigh. Now, though, he’s going to fight tooth and nail to not look like he’s being _allowed_ to go first. With a rueful chuckle, Herc scoops up some sort of glop—the mess staff had insisted it was actual food and not a science experiment gone wrong—and eats a spoonful of it, making a pleased sound when it turns out to just be potatoes with what one could candidly describe as too much fucking butter. He’s already claimed his portion of whatever the meat is that he’d grabbed—making sure to take less than a quarter, because, hell, it’s not like he’s growing anymore—and is working through scooping out his own portions of the green beans and squash when Chuck and Raleigh finally seem to come to some sort of agreement. They start taking their food at the same time.

“Dad,” comes Max’s reproachful tone from across the table, and Herc looks up to see his son staring at him with eyes that are far too knowing for Herc’s liking. Then again, now that he and Chuck have drifted, he’s sure there’s a _lot_ that Max knows. He arches an eyebrow.

“Dad,” Max repeats, “you need to eat, too. Your bones might’ve healed already, but the stuff they use to make them grow back faster is hard on your body. You need to increase your calorie intake for at least the next week or two,” Max glances around Raleigh at his brother, brows furrowing, “ _right_ , Chuck?”

Raleigh, for his part, blinks, eyes darting between the two twins before settling on Chuck, who grows red when all three other people at the table stare pointedly at him.

“Er, yeah,” Chuck eventually confirms, coughing and looking down at his food, and Herc swears he mutters something like “fucking drift” under his breath.

A scraping sound from across from his draws his attention back to his youngest, to see Max scooping some of his own food onto his father’s plate.

“Eat,” he commands, blue-green eyes betraying his nervousness at the order. He looks so earnest, so _determined_ , that Herc feels any resistance that might’ve been building inside of him melt away. He can’t say no to that face, not really. He obligingly takes several bites of the various foodstuffs shoved in front of him. Across the table, he watches with thinly-veiled amusement as Raleigh tries to do the same thing to Chuck.

“Fuck off, Becket,” Chuck snaps, eyes flashing, “I’ll go get more myself if I want it.”

“No,” the blond argues back, “if you want more, take it from what I have, and _I_ can go get more if we need it. I’m not the one who was just treated for radiation poisoning or who had most of my liver replaced or who—”

“I said _no_ , y’fuckin’ seppo. Shut it.”

Herc only catches the edges of the pout Raleigh uses on his son, but he _still_ feels an insane desire to cuddle the other man at the way he looks miserably like a kicked puppy. He’s honestly surprised Chuck doesn’t dissolve into a puddle under the full force of that look, but, then again, this is _Chuck_ he’s talking about. So, instead of melting or having his brain dribble out his ear, Chuck huffs and rolls his eyes.

“ _Fine_ , jesus christ, just… gimme whatever.”

The whole thing feels disturbingly domestic.

Somehow, Herc finds that he doesn’t mind.

 


	10. Raleigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being late. We both had hectic work schedules today and I, for one, have only just now gotten home (at 1 in the freaking morning...HOORAY FOR SCIENCE)

It isn’t that he’s _avoiding_ them per se. Raleigh just sleeps better when he’s so worn down he can’t do anything but drop into bed and close his eyes. The cathartic release of being held while he broke down left him feeling odd. Too open and aware as soon as he went to bed that night. He found himself tossing and turning and thinking far too much. Of Yancy. Of Max. Of Chuck. And what it had felt like to be held so closely between them. Of Herc, and the almost remembered feel of his fingers carding through Raleigh’s hair. It’s so _perfect_ it **_has_** to be a dream. And yet, when he closes his eyes, he can almost still feel the touch of his hand. How gentle and calming it was. How it made him feel like everything was going to be okay without any words exchanged at all. Max and Chuck had held him, tight and close and all consuming. Limbs tangled and bodies warm, chests rising and falling in a sort of natural synchronicity that screamed of drift compatibility and lost chances. They’d lulled him with their quiet sameness. But Herc, Herc had made him _feel_ safe. Even if it hadn’t been real and he’d imagined the whole thing, there was something about Herc that made Raleigh feel secure. Feel protected, even if there wasn’t anything more to it than his own imaginings.

All the older man had to do was walk into a room and Raleigh could feel his body relax. Knew without a shadow of doubt, from his very core, that no matter what happened, Herc would find a way to overcome and keep them all from harm. He realized it was probably an echo of hero worship from when he was younger, coupled with what he knew of the man’s work ethic and his new position as Marshal, and as someone who took precedence in Raleigh’s life.

Somehow, the Hansens - all three - had wound themselves all about him, firmly entrenching him in their existence. Tying him to their family. He couldn’t say how it happened, but he can’t be sure he’d be able to go back to things as they were before without losing his mind. He’s sure they won’t for the same reason he’s sure he’s not just tolerated, but welcome among them.

Max is the center of the family and Max for whatever reason - and Raleigh tries hard not to think it has _anything_ to do with how much of his soul he’d unraveled before him as a dog - enjoys his company and seems to care for him. Truly care for him the way no one, save Mako, has shown to in years. He finds he misses his co-pilot and calls her to see how things are. It’s early in the morning - he forgets time zones exist - and she’s instantly alert, wary and thoroughly prepared to return home to care for him. It takes him two hours to talk her out of it. She needs to be where she is, needs the closure being with Stacker’s family can give her. She informs him she’ll be calling back. She doesn’t disappoint.

Still, Raleigh finds himself something of a ghost. Working himself to the breaking point, and pushing even beyond it, despite how many times the Hansens individually tell him to slow down. Herc eventually orders him to take a break and Raleigh is more restless than he’s ever been.

He still eats with them, every meal. But they look at him sideways while they do. No one saying much about how he’d completely lost it and fallen apart all over them at a time that was almost certainly _not_ the most convenient for them. They’d had their own problems and he’d somehow made it about him and mortified as he was, they all absolutely _refused_ any apology he attempted to make. Chuck had even called him an idiot on three separate occasions.

Raleigh was beginning to think he was losing any hard won respect Chuck had kindled for him.

Herc is a difficult read and so Raleigh doesn’t even try.

Which leaves Max, who makes Raleigh aware in no uncertain terms that he will not permit the American to lose himself again. He sits beside him at every meal - they sandwich him actually, and it’s becoming comfortable in a way he’d never thought he’d feel; Chuck on one side, Max on the other crowding and yet not. The simple press of bodies, the familiar touches of closeness. Max always takes it a step further, and it’s becoming difficult for Raleigh to focus. He knows, reasonably, that there is no feasible way Max is actively trying to seduce him. He’s just confused. Using tricks that were tried and true methods for him as a dog, and not fully cognizant of the fact that those methods meant something else entirely in his human form.

He would casually lean against him in poses that were more draping embraces. He’d rest his head to Raleigh’s shoulder, or rub up against his side. He’d rest their legs together under the table, his gliding up and down so his knee caressed Raleigh’s thigh, shin brushing along his calf. He’d even begun resting a hand over Raleigh’s leg, giving a gentle squeeze every so often when Raleigh needed it most. It traveled higher and higher with each progressive meal until the day he’d squeezed, fingers splayed all along the inside of the blond’s thigh, and Raleigh had had to excuse himself because the brush of the younger’s fingers had stoked a fire in him so strongly as they lay a hairsbreadth away from his suddenly aching cock, he knew if he didn’t move, he’d come in his pants. And _that_ was the _last_ thing he wanted.

Herc would **_murder_** him. And what was worse, he might even bar him from their family. Raleigh knew he couldn’t survive that. So he attempted to find excuses and had to suffer through and endure when they didn’t work, and Max became more and more invasive in his attentiveness.

It wasn’t that Raleigh _minded._ Fuck, it was how much he _didn’t_ mind that was the problem. Whether intentional or not, Max had somehow managed to _train_ Raleigh’s body to be responsive whenever his own was within range. Max would smile and settle in close and Raleigh’s heart would take off like a racehorse. It didn’t help that Chuck - who may or may not be aware - did absolutely _nothing_ to help. Though whether Raleigh wanted him to dissuade his twin or join him seemed to change on a regular basis. Most times - and when he was alone and indulging - Raleigh knew which he’d _prefer._

A week passed in this way and somehow Raleigh managed enough alone time to force the kind of exhaustion on himself he required to get a decent night’s rest. The kind of exhaustion that kept Yancy’s last words or his own terrified, agonized screams from haunting him. The kind of exhaustion that weighed him down so completely he didn’t have the energy to get up and pace in order to keep himself from doing something stupid like showing up at the Hansens’ door at three in the morning and begging to be allowed into their bed. For them to hold him and coax him and coddle him like he was anything precious and valuable, and not the broken, burned out husk of a lucky has-been he really was. He was an adult for fucks sake!

He climbed determinedly into bed and waited for sleep to take him.

So it’s no surprise really when he wakes who knows how many hours later to the feel of a pair of bodies surrounding him. At first he thinks he’s still clinging to the last, lingering remnants of a perfectly wonderful dream. He allows himself a few minutes to wallow before the sadness and loneliness creep in and he forces himself up. It’s time to face the day and start the process all over again.

Except he can’t.

There are limbs around him and when he pushes himself up they tangle tighter about him and drag him back into the bed. Raleigh blinks up at the ceiling in shock, before gathering enough of his wits to try again, just to be certain. He ends up flattened against the mattress, one twin burrowing against him, the other opening bleary eyes to glare at him.

“The fuck do you think you’re going?” Chuck rasps at him. Raleigh’s never heard him first thing in the morning. Not bed tousled and husky from sleep. He goes from woken denial to oversensitive arousal in the span of a heartbeat. “Bed rest, Marshal’s orders,” he adds thickly, dragging Raleigh close until his head is all but tucked beneath Chuck’s chin.

“I-“

“You’re on leave,” Chuck informs him. “Go the fuck back to sleep. Christ, do you even know what time it is? How do you even bleeding function?!”

“You-“

“Max figured you’d actually _stay_ if you weren’t alone.”

Raleigh blinks, not quite certain how the hell this miracle has managed to descend, and desperate not to let it slip out of his grasp.

“How’d you get in?” he asks instead, relaxing under the heat the press of their bodies generates.

Chuck snorts, but doesn’t deign to answer him.

“Your brother knows everyone’s secrets doesn’t he?” he asks instead, softly.

“Probably,” Chuck replies with a grunt. “Bed time, Becket.” He wraps an arm about Raleigh, drawing him close.

Raleigh’s all too aware of the feel of his hand at his back, fingers stroking almost lazily. How Max’s belly is in contact with them both. Max, who makes a happy sound in his sleep and nuzzles closer.

“You’ll stay?” Raleigh finds himself asking, the words leaving his mouth without his express permission. Once they’re out though, he can’t take them back. They all know it.

“Why else are we here?” Chuck grumbles at him. When Raleigh tries to shuffle into a more comfortable position, Chuck surprises him by kissing his temple gently. A soft, closed mouth kiss that still lingers somewhat before he adds, “Nowhere else we’d rather be right now, Raleigh.”

“But your Dad-“

“Just go back to sleep.”

Raleigh wants to argue, but he also just wants to indulge. He’s wanted this so long - and it’s _almost_ perfect - he’s afraid it’ll all go away if he does. So he snuggles as close as he dares, and closer still when Chuck just sighs and continues to stroke him sleepily. Closes his eyes and inhales deeply and thinks, _this is what love feels like._

He’s asleep before he can realize the implications of it.

 


	11. Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the delay with this chapter. I'm literally posting from work (at 8pm on a Tuesday night). Life is so freaking busy it's not even funny.

Raleigh Becket, Chuck has decided, is a fucking idiot.

The blond is obviously hurting, obviously _finally_ actually trying to deal with his brother’s death. Chuck had gained enough memories in the drift between himself and Max to know some of the things the other man had spilled when his twin had still been shifted. He’d seen Max’s memories of coming across the blond working out frantically at three in the morning, of a sweat-drenched Raleigh leaning down to pat the then-bulldog and whisper, “You can’t sleep either, huh buddy?” Can still hear the rueful chuckle, the soft, almost inaudible, “Suppose I should be used to it after five years, huh?” that’d followed. If anything, Raleigh’s complete breakdown in their arms should prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’s not yet past his brother’s death: that, most likely, he’s just… _ignored_ it as a way of dealing with it—which is to say, he hasn’t dealt with it at all.

So when Raleigh somehow manages to avoid them for an entire week, only joining them for meals before disappearing again, Chuck is furious. Both at the American for doing it and at himself for allowing it to happen. It doesn’t help that, on the seventh day of them eating together, Chuck can feel how twitchy with fatigue Raleigh’s become where he’s practically pressed against the blond’s side, and a look over at Max where he’s leaning against the older man’s other shoulder shows that he’s thinking the same thing. Chuck doesn’t say anything then, doesn’t give any indication of his plans for later. However, that night, when he and Max, by some unspoken plan, attempt to sneak out of bed and go to Raleigh without waking their father, there’s a soft, rumbling, “Be gentle with him, boys. Make sure he gets some rest,” that comes out of the darkness behind them. Though he’ll never admit it, Chuck jumps slightly, Max catching hold of him as his younger brother doesn’t react at all except to giggle softly at Chuck’s misstep.

“We will, Dad,” Chuck feels the words spoken against his cheek, a soft press of lips following that sends a tingle racing down his spine before, “we promise.”

Fucking cheater.

And, of course, any anger Chuck might’ve been harboring towards Raleigh disappears the moment Max hacks his door and they sneak in, the momentary sliver of light that falls over the American’s face illuminating his fitfully sleeping features.

Raleigh looks _horrible_.

Though he only sees him for half an instant, Chuck can see the way the other man’s skin is sallow and pale and shining with a thin layer of sweat. Once he and Max navigate over to the bed, he can feel the way Raleigh is _shaking_ with exhaustion, even in sleep; can hear the whimpers issuing from between his lips as the mouth Chuck has been fantasizing more and more about kissing lately—and he’s been steadfastly _ignoring_ that urge, thank you very much, because, again, _Raleigh Becket is a fucking idiot_ —forms Yancy’s name over and over. Without even discussing it, Max takes Raleigh’s front, and Chuck takes his back, the two of them twining their limbs around him, holding him as tightly as they can without waking him. Only once Raleigh quiets, settling, in their arms—something for which Chuck feels no small measure of pride—does Chuck allow himself to drift off to sleep.

When he’s awakened by a bleary-eyed Raleigh some indeterminate amount of time later, questioning his and Max’s combined presence, Chuck can’t even muster up the energy to be annoyed, simply lets the blond know that Herc’s ordered him to sleep. Other words flow between them, but Chuck’s hardly aware of what either of them is saying. Then he’s placing a kiss on Raleigh’s temple, sparks shooting across his skin at the contact and coursing over every inch of his body. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the hand he has splayed over the blond’s taut stomach, the back of his palm making contact with Max’s belly every time his brother takes in a soft breath that synchronizes with Raleigh; some part of his mind notes that it seems almost as if every single one of their breaths is synchronized.

But then he’s falling back asleep, rebuking something idiotic Becket tries to say almost out of reflex, before dreams overtake him.

When he wakes again, it’s because there’s a warm weight shifting over his legs before it settles itself over his ankles. Chuck rolls his shoulders almost instinctively, murmuring a soft, “Mornin’, Max.”

And then something clicks in his brain, and he has to fight to not panic, because he’s still got his arms around Raleigh. Raleigh who obviously hasn’t been sleeping, who is finally fucking unconscious, and who has finally stopped shaking like he’s about to fall apart. So, instead of flying into action the way his instincts are demanding, Chuck slowly, _slowly_ opens his eyes and turns his head down to look at his feet. The sight of a bulldog, breathing slowly, and using his legs as a pillow while staring back at him, is not an unfamiliar one. It is one, though, that sends a chill of panic racing through his veins.

“Max?” he whispers hoarsely.

The bulldog lifts its head and pants happily at him, licking his shin.

The panic solidifies into a solid mass that threatens to choke him, and he can feel a denial working its way from his throat: a whispered, almost begging, “Please, no, Maxie, _please_ no, don’t leave me again.”

As soon as the tears actually well up in his eyes and his breath hitches, though, the shape of the dog wavers, and his brother’s naked body unfolds over his legs, the blue-green gaze worried.

“Chuck? Don’t be sad,” Max tells him, crawling up behind his older twin as Chuck tries to get his breathing under control again, air entering his lungs in cold gasps. “I told you I’m not going to leave you again, okay? I meant it.”

Perhaps it’s Chuck’s shaking near-sobs, or perhaps it’s the way Max is moving, the soft words falling from the youngest Hansen’s lips, but Raleigh wakes, blinks twice, seems to take in the way Chuck is now sandwiched between himself and Max, and rolls over, burying his nose in Chuck’s collarbone, one of his hands coming to rest in the patch of red-brown hair in the center of the redhead’s chest.

“S’alright, Chuck,” Raleigh whispers to him, voice thick with sleep, obviously having no idea what’s going on but saying the words anyway, “s’okay.”

It takes some time, but eventually Chuck calms down enough that his breathing returns to something approaching normal, the panic nothing but a memory that lingers in his skin. Raleigh pulls back and looks at him, a small smile bright on his face. The smile thaws the last memory of the panic, and Chuck has a moment where all he can think of is that _god_ Becket is beautiful, and he finally allows himself to relax into the hold of the two men around him. He feels fingers pulling gently at his jaw, recognizes them as Max’s, and tilts his head so that his brother can softly merge their lips in a sweet kiss. There is love in the kiss, Chuck can practically _feel_ it, but there is also a reaffirmation of a promise. ‘ _I’m not going anywhere,_ ’ it says, ‘ _I’m here. I’m staying_.” The older redhead practically _mewls_ when he feels Max’s hand slip lower on his stomach, tracing down the defined ridges of muscle Chuck’s so proud of until he’s rubbing against the sensitive skin underneath the waistband of the older twin’s sweats. He reaches back behind him, arching his back to both get a better grip on Max’s shoulders and to give his brother easier access.

There’s a harsh intake of breath from his front, and Chuck’s lips separate from his twin’s with an audible pop as he twists his head forward again. Raleigh is staring at the two of them, his eyes blown wide, his face flushed a light pink. Chuck is suddenly aware of the fact that he’s rock hard—which, between himself and Max, is actually something of a new development within the last few days—and that the hot curve of his dick is pressed into the hard planes of Raleigh’s stomach, the two separated only by three thin layers of cloth. The thought makes a shudder run through his entire body, cock throbbing hotly in his sweats. Raleigh licks his lips, eyes darting from where Chuck knows Max is behind his shoulder to Chuck’s face and back again, and then fucking _gnaws_ at the plump flesh, turning it darker shade of pink-red.

He doesn’t think about. He just acts.

Chuck reaches out with one hand, the other tangled in Max’s slightly longer hair, and grabs Raleigh by the back of his neck. Before he can even ponder what he’s doing, he’s hauled the other man forward and is pressing their mouths together.

Fireworks explode in Chuck’s mind, and he moans loudly, pointedly ignoring the soft laughter and whispered, “About time,” that comes from behind him. He has more important things to worry about. Like the fact that he’s kissing _Raleigh fucking Becket_. Except Max, apparently, has other ideas, because, as soon as Chuck tries to focus on the man in front of him, one of Max’s hands dips below his sweats, bypasses his boxers, and wraps firmly around his aching cock. At the same time, he swallows a particularly loud keen from Raleigh, and he angles his head down both to take a second to fucking _breathe_ and to see what the _hell_ his brother is up to.

Max has a hand down each of their pants, and Chuck has enough time to see movement in Raleigh’s sweats before he feels his brother’s palm rub _hard_ over the head of his dick, and he grunts as a thunderbolt of pleasure courses through him, punching the breath out of him again. His head leans forward until it makes contact with Raleigh’s flushed skin, the blond looking as strung out as Chuck feels by his brother’s teasing, and then Raleigh is reaching for him, sinfully skilled tongue invading his mouth. Distantly, he’s aware that Max’s pelvis is pressed against his ass, hard dick grinding rhythmically between the twin globes of muscle through his clothes.

Chuck doesn’t know how long they continue like that, Max rutting against him while jerking both him and Raleigh, the two of them trying to swallow one another while also desperately holding on to each other for dear life. All he knows is that, suddenly, he’s there, crying out into Raleigh’s mouth as he drenches his brother’s hand and his boxers in his release. Raleigh and Max both follow a moment later, the blonde biting down on his lips harshly enough that Chuck’s certain he draws blood, but somehow the zing of pain simply adds to the aftershocks wracking his body as Max continues stimulating his oversensitive glans. Max, for his part, never falters in his rhythm, simply making absolutely adorable, whimpering noises as he comes, a warm wetness gathering at Chuck’s back.

They all lie there, catching their breath, Chuck and Raleigh swallowing each other’s air, until Max pulls his hands from underneath the fabric of their clothes. Chuck flops onto his back—which, some part of him realizes belatedly, might not’ve been the best idea—pulling Raleigh down into a sweet kiss, and pulling back and glancing over at his brother just in time to see Max consider the white mess still on his fingers for a moment, then suck a digit into his mouth.

If the sight alone hadn’t been bad enough, the _sound_ that Max makes is positively pornographic.

And then Max makes it _worse_.

“We should probably get out of our clothes,” he says with a smile, sucking another finger into his mouth and letting out another lewd moan, “if nothing else, before they dry and get all gross and uncomfortable.”

“Jesus fuck,” Chuck croaks to no one in particular, “what the fuck’ve I done?”

Raleigh chuckles from beside him, fingers playing over the older twin’s chest, but otherwise says nothing.

Only later, after they’ve all stripped down to nothing and are lazily exchanging kisses, and Chuck is watching as Raleigh and Max lock themselves in a particularly heated duel of tongues, does Chuck realize that, somehow, the three of them laying there together, naked, is probably the most normal thing he’s felt in a long time.

It feels like home.

 


	12. Herc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...

They don’t make it to breakfast.

They miss lunch.

By dinner, Herc expects it, but it still hurts in places he refuses to acknowledge that their routine has been broken. He eats at a clipped but steady pace and retreats to his room. He’s kept his quarters. More at home in pilots accommodations with both his boys folded in close than he’ll ever manage in the Marshall’s private suite. It has a marvelous view of the harbor, but he’ll forever associate it with Stacker and it just feels wrong to move things. Especially after he’d gotten his son back but Mako had still lost her father. It made him feel guilty and anxious to think about it, mostly because what was both their greatest victory and most personal tragedy was also the direct cause behind his current happiness. Stacker had sacrificed himself, taking Herc’s place in Striker’s conn-pod. He’d lost his life and because Herc hadn’t been down there to die alongside him, he was here, with both sons returned to him. Both of his sons whom were currently engaged elsewhere.

He wasn’t jealous. It was something else entirely. He and Chuck had yet to settle his return between them in the way they were accustomed. As much as it shouldn’t, it physically _ached_ to have not been able to touch him in the way he so longed to. It felt like the beginning all over again. Only this time he had so much more to lose.

He’s gotten too used to their weight in the bed. To the press of their bodies and the heat tucked up about him. He isn’t sure if they’ll return. Isn’t sure which he’d prefer, if he’s honest. Trapped somewhere between wanting them to have something so much more acceptable, so much more normal and far less fucked up. Twins could share an entirely unrelated lover with a lot less friction than, well…He knew they had their problems. Had known a long time. Since the first moment Chuck looked at him with something more than filial piety shinning in his eyes. And with Max returned, things were both more and less complicated. They were certainly more challenging, and definitely far more awkward. Not that he’d change it for anything. He rejoiced in having his youngest returned to him. To have Max back in his entirety. Complete with pout and the stubborn set of his jaw. His smile, his laugh, the whine he made when he was clearly exasperated with them. Each and every moment was a precious gift. Doubly so since Chuck hadn’t died. And yet…No matter how hard he tries to distance himself, to let them have what they need, what is clearly the better choice, he can’t let go entirely. He tosses and turns and fights for sleep before finally giving in and taking himself in hand. The sheets smell of his boys and he presses his face deep into the pillows, thrusting wildly into his fist. They smell different, and yet, there’s an undercurrent that is specifically _them_. He surprises himself with how hard he comes and how drained he feels afterward. Eyeing the bulky sweater crushed about his fist – one of Raleigh’s unofficially borrowed by Max at some point over the course of the past week - he notes fuzzily that he’d reacted to the unique combination of all three scents, having muffled his cries into the sweater. Tucking it close, he rolls onto his side and pulls the sheets up, surrounded in the comfortable familiarity lingering in the fabric and does not give much thought to the fact that Raleigh had been adopted in at some point to such lengths as to be considered part of the core of his home, and drops off to sleep.

In the morning he takes a shower, gets dressed and changes the sheets, dumping all the evidence into the laundry – including Raleigh’s sweater. They skip breakfast again and they’re late for lunch, but they arrive. When they do, it’s very clear to Herc that a great deal has changed between them. Max spends all his time looking at Raleigh as if he’d personally crafted and hung the stars. It’s a sort of dewey eyed first love with enough body brushing to make it obvious that Raleigh – and likely Chuck – has introduced his youngest son to orgasms and that Max really, really enjoys them. A lot. He keeps sliding his hand down Raleigh’s leg just beneath the table. Raleigh does his best to steadfastly eat, trying to make conversation. He freezes mid sentence, eyes darting sideways to take in Chuck who grins at him in response and – if Herc’s interpreting correctly – does that thing with his knee to the blond’s likely rock hard cock. Raleigh closes his eyes, shivering slightly. Some food falls off his spoon as he halts its progress. Max – ever the impulsive one – tilts his head and mouths Raleigh’s neck, sucking an impressive bruise into his skin just against the curve of his jaw, tucked discreetly behind his ear. Max’s elbow is moving in an easily recognizable pattern and Raleigh’s head drops back, eyes closing in bliss.

When he’d told them to be gentle with him…he’d only considered the fact that they’d likely sleep with him in a non literal sense as the _least_ likely option. None of them had any issue walking in or sitting down, so it’s not likely they’ve gone quite that far. But it’s far enough, and they’re all completely lost in it to the exclusion of all else. They’re in the goddamn Mess for Christ’s sake. But Herc can’t find it in him to reprimand them. Not when he’s too busy watching the way the young American’s adam’s apple bobs as he tries to keep the sounds from escaping his throat. The way his tongue darts out to wet his lips only to be caught up in Chuck’s mouth. The gentle shiver of his body as Herc’s sons push him closer and closer right there in front of him.

Max leans back, considering his handiwork. He’s apparently pleased with it, because he grins widely, a bit of a giggle trapped in the curve of his cheeks. And then he’s gone. Ducking under the table. “At least drop a spoon,” Chuck gripes, voice rough with lust – the likes of which Herc hasn’t heard in _weeks_. Chuck casually throws a spoon beneath the table in a manner that says he couldn’t give two shits what anyone thought, but they’d best be looking at Raleigh anyway because this was quality work in motion, before sliding more sinuously beneath the table.

To his credit, Raleigh does try not to look like he’s receiving the best head of his life from twin mouths beneath a cafeteria table. A small part of Herc idly wonders what’s gotten into his boys, taking a risk like this. Another part of him reminds the first part that they’re Hansens, and Hansen twins at that and that that alone was more than enough reason.

The canteen is empty except for them – with half the population away on holiday and the other half out on shift. With no need for round the clock staffing, most of the ‘dome had fallen into standard workdays, eating all together and clearing the room to head back to work when they were through. Which meant Herc was the only one available to look. Not that he’d have been able to look away for anything.

Raleigh gasps and bites his lip, teeth tucking about the plump fold. His hands move to grip the edges of the table, knuckles going white as he tries not to just release all the loud, guttural cries the pair beneath the table is kindling within him. He sucks both lips into his mouth, teeth closing until they’re nothing but a fine line.

Beneath the table, Herc can feel an ass pressing back rhythmically against his shin. It smoothes down and back up, bumping his knee. He’s fairly certain it’s Chuck. But afraid it might be Max – innocently caught up in the moment – he doesn’t move. He doesn’t stop them though.

The table shifts slightly as Raleigh’s hips make an aborted motion and he clings to the tabletop with desperation. “Raleigh,” Herc says, ensnared by the picture he makes. Impossibly blue eyes open and settle on him, dark with lust. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re the last in the canteen.” Raleigh flushes, swaths of pink and red climbing up his neck and spilling over his face. “You can come now.”

The American’s eyes widen, mouth falling open as he comes hard instantly. Herc does his best to keep to his side of the table, though he does keep Raleigh’s eyes because it would be a damn waste not to. Not when he’s so beautiful falling apart in the best way.

Raleigh sags, folding his arms over the table and dropping his face to it in mortification as Max and Chuck reappear on either side of him. Chuck makes a show of licking his lips, tongue following his own deliciously soft curves around, slightly slick with the milky remnants of the blond’s release. Herc watches, wanting to reach across the table and bring him close by the collar. Kiss him deep like he’s been wanting to and taste Raleigh on his tongue.

“Max,” he says after a moment, leaning into his new lover. He keeps Herc’s eyes, his own hooded slightly as he tilts his head. “Pass the ketchup, will ya?”


	13. Raleigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies _again_ for the late posting (posting from work... _again_... bah...)

It’s not that they’re _trying_ to get caught by Herc. It’s just that, Raleigh notices, over the course of the next week and a half, the Marshall seems to _just so happen_ to walk in on them in the middle of whatever they’re doing more often than not.

The first time is when Raleigh is down on his knees, both twins with their legs thrown wide over the edge of the Hansens’ bed. His head is bobbing up and down on Max’s cock as both twins thread fingers through his hair, their grips distinct even with how tangled up they are: Chuck’s hard and demanding, Max’s unsure, as if he hasn’t yet quite figured out that Raleigh _likes it_ when they manhandle him. He’s relearning how to deepthroat—something he hasn’t done since...well, longer than he can easily remember—and has just managed to get his spasming muscles to relax around Max’s length, taking the head into his throat without gagging, when the door creaks open and Herc enters. Raleigh can’t see the door, but he can practically _feel_ the other man’s presence, his instincts confirmed when he sees Chuck smirk and murmur a soft, “Hey, old man.”

Raleigh tries to pull off, he really does, but Chuck’s grip tightens further, holding him down and making him moan loudly in his chest. Raleigh knows what it feels like to have those vibrations coursing up your dick, so he’s unsurprised when Max whimpers and the hips he’s got a hand splayed over buck up into his mouth, the cock in his throat spasming as Max falls apart beneath him. He’s barely got enough time to catch his breath when Chuck pulls on him—Max’s length sliding wetly from his mouth, remnants of the younger twin’s release still painting the back of Raleigh’s tongue and stretching on lines of spit from cock to mouth—before pushing him down on the other dick waving in his face, not _quite_ as long as Max’s but still incrementally thicker. A pulse of arousal travels through Raleigh’s whole body at the knowledge that Herc is still _right there_ —the door had shut, but there had been no sound of booted feet leaving—is _watching_ as Chuck leans over and murmurs in his brother’s ear, “Watch, Maxie, this is what he really gets him off,” before gripping the hair on either side of Raleigh’s head forcefully and pistoning himself in and out of Raleigh’s mouth. The memory of the Mess just the day before, Herc looking him in the eye, steel blues _blazing_ , and telling him to _come_ , and the way Chuck has so effortlessly tapped onto what he’d thought was one of his more secret, private desires—to just be able to _let go_ and have a lover take over—nearly has Raleigh coming without touching himself.

But then Chuck makes a sort of strained grunting sound, a low, “Fuck, Ray, gonna—” floating into the room, followed by an even lower, rougher growl from behind them, and that’s it, Raleigh’s gone, coming untouched in the pants that he hasn’t even had a chance to remove. Herc has escaped into the shower by the time Raleigh looks up, the sounds of the water running audible through the relatively thin metal of the dividing wall.

The second time is as Herc’s coming out of the same shower, entire body flushed red. By then, the twins have Raleigh spread-eagled on the bed, one of them—through the haze of lust, he’s pretty sure those feels like Max’s lips—sucking him off as the other nips and sucks and bites marks into every inch of his skin.

The most memorable time, though—and, at this point, Raleigh’s stopped counting—is when he’s teaching the twins the joys of rimming. He’s got Chuck on his back, lower body propped up on some pillows, and is gazing into his eyes as Chuck looks down at where Raleigh’s got his mouth attached to his most intimate of places, tongue darting out to tease at the clenching ring of muscle. Max is hovering over them, holding Chuck’s legs back, rock hard, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Chuck hasn’t stopped writhing and cursing since Raleigh’d started, his face flushed, eyes gleaming, looking completely and utterly _needy_ and fucked-out.

This time, though, is memorable because Chuck has _just_ started to beg Raleigh to fuck him when Herc walks in. And as soon as Chuck’s lust-hazed eyes fall on his father, he starts begging for the same thing from Herc.

“Please, daddy, please, nee— _nggh_ ,” his words cut off as Raleigh makes a particularly forceful jab inward, the body beneath him tensing and shuddering deliciously, “need you to fill me up like before, miss you so much daddy, _please_ —”

From his vantage point, Raleigh can see how the words affect Herc, can see the way the older man’s entire face flushes red, the way his pupils dilate. However, he can also see the way Herc’s fists are clenching and unclenching in time with his jaw. Max must see it, too, because he’s swooping down and capturing Chuck’s mouth in a searing kiss that Raleigh can feel from over here even as he slips a finger into Chuck’s wet, loosened opening and, after a moment’s searching, finds the tense, fleshy nub within and grinds into it with the pad of his finger.

He hears Chuck scream into Max’s mouth, as he watches the cock that’s at his eye level visibly swell and tense, spurting streams of milky fluid onto Chuck’s neck and stomach, some of it actually hitting Max in the side of the face. He can see Chuck’s fingers scrabbling desperately at the collar around Max’s neck, trying to find something solid onto which to hold.

When Raleigh pulls away, looking around, Herc is gone. In and of itself, it’s not an unusual occurrence. Chuck and Max’s father seems to vacillate between staying and watching his sons ravage each other and Raleigh—or vice versa—or bugging the fuck out. Chuck and Max have already shared with him the nature of Chuck’s relationship with Herc, and, though he’s told Herc he doesn’t judge him in the slightest—after all, it wouldn’t be the first time the drift had brought related people together; Raleigh distinctly remembers the first time he’d met the Gages, remembers being awed by the depth of their love and affection for one another—Herc is still holding himself back for some reason that Raleigh has yet to entirely figure out, though he can guess.

And, of course, it doesn’t help that every time Herc has stayed to watch them, Raleigh’s come harder than he’d ever previously thought possible.

“He’ll come around,” Raleigh’s gaze snaps up to Max where he’s curled into Chuck’s side, gently suckling at the mess still cooling on the heaving red-dusted chest and stomach. “He just thinks that he shouldn’t want us both now that we have each other and you.”

“Oh.” Hearing it said so plainly, the way Max always does, never fails to put things in perspective for Raleigh. “But, I mean, he has to know that you both want him, right? And that it’s not a problem?”

“Then why don’t you tell him how you feel?”

And just like that, Raleigh understands. However, instinct takes over, and his mouth shuts with a clack of teeth as he grits out a low, “I don’t know what—”

“Yes, you do,” there’s a soft rustling and then Max is right there, at Raleigh’s side, planting a kiss that tastes of Chuck onto his lips. “And it’s okay, Raleigh. Chuck would tell you the same thing, but,” Max looks down at his brother and runs a hand over Chuck’s softening cock, making him shiver in what Raleigh is sure is overstimulation. There’s a fondness in Max’s gaze that makes Raleigh’s chest ache even as their eyes meet once more. “Well, I think you might’ve broken him for a little bit.”

“Oi,” Chuck’s voice is raspy, still breathless and halting as Max continues to fondle him with obvious gentleness, “f-fuck you, too, Maxie.”

“Maybe later,” comes the immediate, sarcastic reply, and the air is suddenly thick with recent memory. However, Max is apparently not done, because he continues speaking, sarcasm gone.

“Only after Dad does it first. He was your first, so,” a careless shrug, “he should be mine, too. It’s only fair. Besides,” he glances down before looking up at the two of them through his lashes, “I want it.”

A frustrated, needy sound works its way from between Raleigh’s lips, and it’s only then that he realizes he still hasn’t come, and neither has Max. Max seems to come to the same realization because, the next thing he knows, Raleigh’s being rolled onto his back and Max is everywhere, a hand wrapped around both of them, stroking frantically.

“That excites you, doesn’t it Raleigh? Thinking about watching dad be my first?” It’s not a question. Not really, and Raleigh can only groan in response. He can feel his already tenuous control slipping.

Which is, of course, when Max leans in close—close enough that the worn leather of his collar brushes against Raleigh’s jaw—and whispers in his ear, words dripping with filth, “I want you and Chuck to fuck me right after Dad, though. I want my first time to be with all of you.”

And, well, if Raleigh comes the instant those words actually manage to connect in his lust-ridden mind, who can blame him?

 


	14. Herc

Herc can’t recall ever being quite so torn in all his life. Not even when his and Chuck’s relationship had taken a wild, spiraling turn down a path there was absolutely no return from. Not even when he’d first laid eyes on Angela and felt the strength of attraction squeeze his chest. He’d never once been unfaithful. She’d changed all that. He finds himself thinking of Scott a lot. More now than he has in years. It’s been so long, the echo of the ghost drift they once shared throbs hollowly, making him feel even more alone. They’d done what they’d had to. _He’d_ done what was necessary to save the only person he’d loved more than life longer than anyone else in it.

 It aches when he thinks of him. His entire soul vibrates with the loss. If he concentrates too long, too deeply, all he gets is sensation. The way Scott’s cries had hurt him, the tight pull of his muscles as his body curled in on itself, palms clutching and fingers digging. The pain in his eyes and the sharp sting of fear and desperation in Herc’s gut, clear as anything through the drift they shared. 

He can remember then being afraid. Dragging Scott to him and holding him close. Doing anything he asked just to make the pain go away, to keep him there with him, to save him. There’s a scar on his back from the one and only time they’d been together. Scott begging and pleading and clutching him close as Herc pistoned away mindlessly into him, trying to drive it all away, trying to bring Scott back to himself for just a little while. It’d been the first time in a long time thighs had squeezed him close. The last time for a long time, too. The feel of Scott’s trembling, the uncontrolled jerk of his abdomen burned into Herc’s memory along with the bone deep weariness that returned control and order and sense to Scott’s world if only briefly before he’d disappeared forever. 

He wonders sometimes if things would have gone better if he’d been able to shift. If the gene hadn’t skipped him entirely and passed on to his children. If he could have lent Scott the strength he’d needed properly, could have connected to him rightly - to be for him an anchor and a keystone and all the things Chuck and Max were able to be for one another since the womb. To have it be so effortless to console and buoy one another. To have been able to truly understand Scott, not the strange, half life he’d experienced able to know what it was to shift thanks to the drift and never be able to physically do it. It was his taint that had poisoned Scott. His humanity that had driven him to it.

He vividly recalls the sharpness of Scott’s gaze. His own horror at the realization that he’d been so close to truly losing him when their next drift opened up the fathomless well of Scott’s struggle. He’d had to let him go, he knew that still. It had made him hesitate to offer the spot to his son, concern that he’d taint him as well - or worse - a sickly sour stain on his tongue. But Chuck hadn’t shifted in years, stubbornly refused to, and he’d naively thought it’d be okay. That the chance to drift with his son would only fix things, not wreck them entirely. But the moment their minds had first touched, everything left of Scott that was harbored deep in Herc had reached out for the understanding in Chuck, and he’d nearly seized in the conn-pod when his body tried to shift independent of his permission in full drivesuit.

They’d evened out, with Max’s help. Had even moved beyond it - though possibly not for the better. But it still lingered, the guilt, the remorse, the knowledge that because of him Scott had lost himself. Scott, the most confident, self assured person he’d ever known, driven to bouts of hysteria because the weight of it all had been too much. He might have been alright had either of Herc’s sons seen fit to sync up and shift with him regularly. But their family was frozen in a state of extremes. With Max shifted with absolutely no inclination to shift back, Chuck stubbornly refusing to ever shift again, and Scott in transition between them, keeping their family together. It was only a matter of time, Herc can see that now. Something so large and unwieldy should never have been forced on his baby brother’s shoulders. Scott had done the best he could. Had quietly endured it as long as he could. Struggling, falling, breaking inside, all to keep them together.

They’d been awfully selfish. The boys had been children, it was excusable. But there was nothing in Herc that could be so easily wiped clean.

He looks at his sons and the way they adore Raleigh and he can remember a time he couldn’t get enough. When just _being_ with Scott was so overwhelming that he’d have to draw him close, frame his face in his hands and kiss him long and low and deep because words weren’t enough, could never _be_ enough. Scott had laughed then as Raleigh laughs now. Light and airy and so full of happiness he was near to bursting with it. Shadows cast further away for the time being, and little moments - too precious to properly explain - held close and cherished for their full value.

When he looks for it, he can see Scott in Raleigh. Some days it actually helps ease the tight knot inside him that is where he keeps Scott now. Some days it’s all he can do to leave as quickly as possible lest he let on just how much the three of them together hurts him. It isn’t even as if there are negative feelings toward them and their involvement. What his boys have with Raleigh is pure and good. It’s the kind of relationship he’s always dreamed of for them - if slightly off track for them sharing him, though he’ll admit even as children he’d had difficulty ever picturing them with separate partners. Granted, he’d also had a hard time picturing them as _men_ , so blinded by the wonder of his own children learning and growing and experiencing the world. It wasn’t so hard to do now. Especially when he knew what Chuck tasted like, the feel of him clenched tight about his cock. When the ghost of his twinness shrouded the innocence of Max, making Herc feel worse for being able to knowledgeably infer. And the fact that they were all aware that Raleigh Becket was the only person in the world who was an authority in it.

But Scott is still there. In the sudden joyous burst of laughter, or the concerned frown, or sideways glance. A parody of himself trailing in the wake of the shadow cast by the twins’ new love.

He scrubs his hand through his hair and drags it over his face. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore. Doesn’t know how to move beyond the fact that even after everything, all he wants to do the next time he walks in on them is lock the door and take control. He knows how Chuck will react - smug, greedy little bastard that he is. Can make a good guess on Raleigh from the numerous times they’ve locked eyes through the blond’s orgasms. But it’s Max...it’s Max he fears most.

He can see the desire in his eyes. Sense the want there. He knows Max loves him. Knows he wants to know what Chuck knows, and blames the drift for the increase in his youngest’s daring. The last time he’d walked in on them, Max had been mewling happily, head bobbing rhythmically between Raleigh’s thighs. Chuck had locked eyes on him right away, hips pistoning up forcefully. Raleigh had gasped, hands closing about the red head’s knees, thighs shaking. It took Herc a moment to realize they’d graduated at some point to penetration. He wondered for one brief insane moment how he’d managed to miss it. The thought had quickly morphed into questioning the instigator, answering itself instantaneously as he took in the stretch of Max’s back as his hands tightened about the blonde’s hips and shoved him back down, using the returning strength of a healthy shifter to press Raleigh back into Chuck’s increasing thrusts. The older pilot’s head had dropped back, falling over Chuck’s shoulder as the twins had driven him wild at both ends.

Max had pulled back when Raleigh was close, Chuck dragging Raleigh’s arms back and up behind him, forcing him to lean forward as he began the final stretch, pistoning into him so forcefully the bed shrieked and shuddered. Herc’s youngest had turned then, eyes flashing with something he couldn’t explain. “Raleigh’s mouth is empty, Daddy,” he’d said in a voice so lost to sex Herc had taken a reflexive step closer before regaining control of himself. Like that, Max looked so much like Chuck, sounded so much like Chuck.

“Please, _please_!” Raleigh had cried, body curving above Chuck, held taut like the arch of a bow.

For one impossibly insane moment, Herc had almost given in. It would have been _so_ easy. Max waited expectantly, and as soon as their eyes met, his youngest had sighed as if Herc had failed him, stroking the inside of Raleigh’s thigh soothingly before turning and swallowing him down in one fluid, graceful motion.

It wasn’t until Herc had slammed the door behind him and fallen into it, heart thundering in his chest like a freight train on a collision course that what had just happened fully mapped out. He’d just watched his baby deepthroat Raleigh Becket with a casual ease and comfort Chuck had spent _years_ trying to obtain.

He had to bite down on the meat of his thumb to keep the cry of his sudden release from carrying.

And if a little more water had spilled down his face when he stepped under the spray, there was no one to argue it was anything but a showerhead in need of replacing.

 


	15. Max

Max wakes up to something ticking at his nose. Cracks a single eye open to find a pair of beady, black eyes staring back at him. The sight sends something warm rushing through his veins, and his eyes open fully as he has to resist the urge to sit up.

“Chuck!” he whispers hoarsely, drawing an annoyed barking sound out of the sugar glider currently sitting on his face before it goes back to licking the tip of his nose. “Chuck, you shifted!”

He gets another noise, this one sounding equally annoyed, but Max could swear that he hears something that sounds like an affirmative beneath it. It’s been, god, over ten years since he’s had practice at this—well, this side of it, anyway. A thought creeps up on him, though, and he feels his brows furrow, concern a sudden, cool weight in his gut.

“You did it on purpose this time, right?” 

Only when that gets him another affirmative does he allow himself to relax and raise a hand to stroke at Chuck’s fur. He can feel his brother’s now-faster heartbeat through his cheek, and he shifts his head so that he’s less likely to roll on that side by accident. Chuck might make another, much louder annoyed sound, but he quiets once Max gets settled, the hand he has on Chuck’s back reaching down to maybe-kinda-sorta-definitely play with the sugar glider’s tail. Chuck lets him, probably out of force of habit, since Max’d done it to him all the time when they were kids, though he does lean up to give Max a _look_ that, somehow, manages to convey a highly sarcastic, ‘ _Really?_ ’

Yes, really. He smirks, almost laughing when the change in expression makes one of Chuck’s feet lose its grip and he has to scramble to stay on Max’s face. The annoyed, scratchy sound comes back, not abating for a few seconds until Max scratches him on the head again.

“Oh, hush,” he says softly, putting his fingertip on Chuck’s nose, “you’ll wake—”

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

Raleigh’s voice is heavy with sleep, and Chuck barks at him before scrambling off Max’s face and over towards where Raleigh is sleeping. Free to move, Max lifts his head and spies their boyfriend rubbing sleep from his eyes, head resting on one hand, hair tousled. He looks at the sugar glider that’s making its way onto his pillow, then back at Max, free hand still rubbing at his face.

“Chuck’s not in the bathroom ‘r somethin’, right? That _is_ him?”

Max can only watch as Chuck jumps—of course he does—onto the wrist just beneath Raleigh’s head, latching on with his tiny claws, and starts belting into Raleigh’s ear. Has to keep himself from laughing as Raleigh recoils, Chuck jumping away before he can be flung off or, worse, crushed. He lands on the pillow and continues making the same sounds that Max _eventually_ thought of as adorable, but that’d first scared him as a kid. He does stop, though, when Raleigh’s flailing makes the blond fall out of bed. Makes a little barking sound before a running jump, gliding off the bed to land on Raleigh’s naked chest.

Raleigh groans, and Max watches as he looks down. Watches Chuck stare back at him, finally quiet.

“Yup, definitely him.”

The words are followed by a hiss as Chuck jumps back over to the comforter, disappearing until he climbs back into view. He gives Max a pointed look then barks again, looking back over at where Raleigh is still sprawled, naked, on the floor. Max arches an eyebrow, which makes Chuck bark at him again and gesture back at Raleigh, _again_. It takes a few seconds, searching through old memories, before Max furrows his brow at his brother.

“You wanna ride with him?”

That gets him another bark and a small motion _almost_ , but not quite, like a nod. Yes, then. He feels a smile break out on his face, easy and relaxed, as he glances back down at Raleigh.

“Chuck wants to ride with you today.”

“What, like—”

Max rolls his eyes.

“In your pocket.” After Raleigh sends him a disbelieving look, he rolls his eyes, something close to fondness swelling in his belly. “It’s a sugar glider thing. They like pockets. Means he trusts you.”

Chuck makes a small chirping noise, one Max hasn’t heard from him before, but it sounds positive enough. Raleigh grimaces as he climbs to his feet, but scoops Chuck up in one hand, using  the other to support himself as he leans over and lazily kisses Max good morning.

“Your brother is a total asshole when he’s shifted, by the way.”

“Mmm,” Max hums into the kiss, “and he’s not when he’s human?”

Chuck gives them both a beady-eyed glare, and it’s Raleigh’s turn to laugh, shaking his head.

“C’mon, let’s get showered, then.”

It should be a crime, Max finds himself thinking, that Raleigh looks as good as he does with water running over the defined ridges of his muscles. Something flutters in his belly at the moans the other man makes when he leans in to trace the valleys between those muscles with his tongue. Spends extra time on the scars he finds, too, kissing his way along them. Raleigh hasn’t told him exactly how he got the circuitry-shaped ones, but the memories from Chuck have given him some idea. He does know that Raleigh used to trace them sometimes when he’d been petting him, reeking of sadness and something a lot like loathing. He also knows that he doesn’t want Raleigh to think of them as an imperfection, as a sign of failure or something equally ridiculous. Because he hadn’t failed.

So Max worships them with his tongue and lips, makes Raleigh a quivering mess in the too-small space. Has him coming with only a few slides of his palm over overheated flesh. Kisses him deep, feeling a thrill travel through his bones because he still sometimes finds himself swept up in the _novelty_ of it all, of being able to touch someone and just make them... _feel_.

It makes him feel powerful. Makes him feel _connected_. Makes him feel accomplished.

Makes him want to do it again.

Chuck makes an annoyed warbling noise from outside the stall, almost as if sensing his thoughts. Which, alright, is impossible, but still. Probably an animal instinct thing. He would know, after all.

“D’you want me to…?” Raleigh trails off, and Max looks down to see where his still-hard dick is sticking out, poking Raleigh in the leg.

Chuck lets out another annoyed warble. Max sighs before leaning out to grab them both towels.

“You owe me a blowjob after lunch,” he tells the ‘glider where it’s curled up on the small counter. Gets nothing but a single bark in answer. Later, gets another bark, this one definitely agitated, when he scoops Chuck up off of his new dozing spot on Raleigh’s pillow to hand him over.

“Oh, stop your whining, we’re just gonna go get food. Then you need to shift back because I want your help going through some of these textbooks. Plus,” Max reaches out a hand to rub at the white spot on Chuck’s head where it’s sticking out of Raleigh’s breast pocket, getting a musical little noise out of his brother, “you probably need a shower after last night.”

Raleigh laughs, making the same thing in his belly flutter oh-so softly. Max relishes in the feeling, focusing on it as he locks their door behind him, stepping out into the hallway and matching Raleigh step for step. He finds himself musing that feelings are so different now, like this. That, even after all these weeks, he finds himself awed by them. Finds himself trying to commit them to memory so that he can experience, examine, and exult in them later. Finds that he—

“Holy shit,” the voice is ragged, gravelly, familiar in a way that prickles the hair on the back of Max’s neck. It’s also _right behind him_. “Max? Maxie, that you?”

Max watches as Raleigh stops a step ahead of him, turning in confusion, looking first at him, then the stranger, and back. As if he’s in a dream, Max turns on his heel, eyes on the floor and drawing slowly up. They widen when they come to rest on the man before him, taking in the familiar face, so much like their father and yet so, so different. He has to swallow back...something. Something unfamiliar: something that feels like a hot pressure in his chest that’s trying to crawl its way out of his throat. Memories spring in that feeling’s wake, making his sight swim with visions of a beleaguered Australian Shepherd that smelled of despair and trauma, of gently knocking their canine heads together one last time, winding around him in the closest thing to a goodbye they could manage, before disappearing out the door.

“Uncle Scott?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuun... :'D
> 
> To give you an idea of some of the noises sugar gliders can make (and so what you should be imagining when Chuck makes noise): the most famous one is called "[crabbing](http://youtu.be/Zt8uLejOuaQ)", while there's also [barking](http://youtu.be/flYmP4Neh1Y), [hissing](http://youtu.be/rW39E4z8h-8), and "[singing](http://youtu.be/9ST3dGDRdCc)".


	16. Scott

At first, Scott can’t quite make out what he’s seeing. He’d come because there’d been no other option. His nephew was dead. His brother was injured and grieving. And Max...Max is standing there, staring at him wide eyed and open mouthed. Scott swallows, the awkwardness of just over six years of separation tight in his throat. He’d come to console them, with what little he could offer, but here was Max, hale and whole and smiling before he’d been interrupted. 

He finds the more he tries the harder it is to summon words. Thankfully he and Max have never needed them. Max’s jaw shuts with a snap and suddenly he’s moving. Scott isn’t sure whether to back up or not. Isn’t sure when Max shifted back - though he can guess, and it burns a raw, churning pit in his stomach - isn’t sure if he’s even welcome. He’d come because he couldn’t stay away. Had heard about everything, watched with the rest of the world and swallowed tears he had no right to shed, retreating to his best form of coping for who knew how long. He tended to lose time now, without a touchstone, without the steady, stable, ever present guideline of his life that was his brother’s presence. Six years had been mere days, as restive as weeks, but as fleeting as hours. And he still can’t be sure he’s doing the human thing right anymore.

Max doesn’t seem to care as he drags a surprised Scott close, arms wrapping about him as if he didn’t trust him not to bolt. Nose finding it’s way into the crook of his neck and this Scott can do. His hands clutch Max’s shirt as he mirrors the gesture, and they spend several long minutes just _breathing_ one another in.

The ragged, twisted thing that holds Scott’s insides in a vicegrip loosens. But Max cries first. It’s more than he expected, more than he deserves, and it draws his instincts to the fore. Cradling Max close like the precious gift he is, swaying minutely as he murmurs nonsense into his hair, hands stroking soothingly - to comfort which more he cannot say.

He has not seen another shifter in so long. Sure, there have been some in passing here and there - it was easier to survive the war as an animal - but none had been home. The pack mentality that kept their kind so stable, despite some less companionable forms missing in their lonesome interactions. The truth was shifters didn’t do well on their own and Scott had been on his own for far too long.

When they’d been kids, back when Herc was mobile and he was a round bit with waving limbs, their parents hadn’t known what to do with a shifter child. Hadn’t known anyone who could help. The simple fact was a shifter hadn’t been born in their family for a hundred years. Their great-grandfather the last anyone in their bloodline could recall, though there surely had been more before him. Shifter genes regularly skipped a generation, but skipping two was a death knell. So no one had expected a six month old Scott to be put down for a rest in his nappy only to be found rolling around, a fuzzy ball of fluff, with no concept of what’d just happened.

While the adults had argued, panicked and confused, Herc had taken the entire thing in stride. As they grew he became the central point to Scott’s entire world. Shifters were rare in those days. Rarer with such a large global population suffocating any chance another generation would come up from the genetic moors. And in that time Scott was both a neighborhood fascination and a museum piece. People didn’t know whether to avoid him or engage him. To be kind to him or shun him. The children in their years at school all knew who he was and there were days he was popular and awe inspiring in equal measures with the days where his locker would be trashed and rocks thrown at him. Through it all Herc remained his champion, his confidant, his supporter and the only person who never once reacted to or expected any changes in forms from Scott.

As they’d grown older and Scott had started to become more self aware he’d realized that there was no one he cared more for than Herc. That there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t for him. And that, if Herc ever wanted, everything Scott had and was would be his for the taking.

The day hadn’t come for a long time. And when it did it came in the form of a neural bridge. It came and it took and Scott buckled and Herc refused to take anymore. Which had hurt more than anything he could imagine - except of course, all the talk of replacing him. The day he left is forever burned into his senses. A guiding light and source of warmth all in one, with a side of misery. Herc had been so loving come morning. Affectionately stroking him, murmuring sweet nothings and impossible promises against his skin as they stroked and kissed and relaxed for the first time in forever. Together, as they’d always been.

What had broken Scott’s heart that day was the knowing look in his brother’s eyes. The pleading permission to go, get well, whatever the consequences. “We’ll do whatever’s best for you,” he’d husked into his hair. “Anything y’ need, Scotty. If I can give it to you, it’s yours. And if I can’t I’ll find a way to give it to you anyway.”

“-missed you so much,” Max says, rubbing their faces against one another. It’s so comfortingly familiar, Scott is responding just as eagerly without conscious thought.

“Missed you too, Maxie,” he husks, rough and emotional - it’s all too much really. He clasps Max high against the arms and leans back. “When’d you change-?”

“After Chuck…”

He crushes him close again with all the strength left in him. “Oh Max...I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Our poor Charlie. Our Charlie…”

There’s a high pitched noise of argumentative chatter and then there is a sugar glider landing on his face.

“ _Charlie_?!” he puffs in surprise, disbelieving.

Chuck makes an even noisier sound and crawls all over him before settling in his hair, curling up tightly as if he can hold them back in his smaller form if he just tries enough. 

“Charlie,” he chokes, reaching up almost reverently to cup his hand over the tiny form. Chuck circles and rubs his entire face and body against him. Scent marking his family the way any of them would. “This how you survived, sprog?” he finds himself replying with a laugh of happiness.

Chuck chatters again before settling.

“I missed you,” he tells them, voice tight with emotion. “I’ve missed you _so_ much.”

His mind finally registers the other form, the tall blond off to the side, watching them carefully. He recognizes Raleigh Becket. Probably better than he should, all things considered.

They have a lot in common, and they don’t. Both ostracised from the PPDC for things they couldn’t help. Both away for long stretches of time, surviving because there was nothing else for a retired ranger to do but survive. He isn't sure what Raleigh’s done with his time, probably something constructive - the kid could never keep still. He would have made a good shifter, Scott thinks. Might have made for a natural release for all the manic energy the kid’d always had in spades. He looks at Becket, the only Becket now, and he can see the outline of Yancy just behind. The love they’d had for one another rivaling any shifter’s. Shifters bonded deeply and irreparably and completely. The drift had only made it more potent. Yancy and Raleigh Becket were the only humans he knew to have the same deep well of emotional connectivity and it hurts to look Raleigh in the eyes and see the part he’s boxed away. The dullness in the depths of those blue eyes, the sparkle dimmed and weighed down with a sorrow so encompassing there weren’t words enough to even begin to try and express it. But there was something else in those eyes. In the way they touched Max and Charlie. Intimate and fond and lost to a growing bond that would define the rest of his life.

Being involved with a shifter could be the single most involved experience of a person’s life. And Raleigh Becket was in deep with _two_ of them. Shifter twins no less. And ** _Hansens_** on top of it. The poor, lucky bastard.

His attention is brought back to the boys as he feels the crackle race through air.

“No, Chuck, not here!” Max says, too late apparently. Because Charlie’s already shifting back.

Scott’s nose bunches in sympathy as Max drops down to help him. It’s obvious Charlie’s not been shifting again for long. It takes too long and there are moments where even he can’t keep the sounds of discomfort or outright pain from escaping as his body twists and jerks and rights itself. Most shifters keep a standard size, an equal exchange of mass more or less in both directions. But Charlie was special. Always had to do things the hard way and show everyone up. It made him smile to note he hadn’t really changed much.

Charlie panted slightly, fingers curled into his palms, fists tight against the concrete floor. For a few minutes he just sat there, unmoving. Back bowed and legs tucked up under him as he regained his bearings. Max murmured and nuzzled him, mindful of the sensitive nature of his skin but knowing how much support was needed during difficult transitions.

When Charlie looked up, Scott took an involuntary step back. The fire bright in those too expressive eyes. It spurred something in the younger shifter, because he stood abruptly, wobbling sideways suddenly. Max hadn’t moved though and he pressed against his twin in support, balancing him. As functional a team as always, Charlie wasted no time in reaching out and grabbing Scott by the collar, dragging him across the space between them. His hand was shaking, the other still curled tightly in an equally shaky fist.

“You,” he growls, low and angry.

“Charlie, I-”

His nephew is suddenly curled around him tightly. Limbs locked and weighing him down to the spot. There’s a hitch in Charlie’s voice as he rumbles, “Don’t you **_ever_** do that again!” For a moment, Scott is sure Charlie is going to bite him - it might be the dog in him though, because instead he just presses his face to Scott’s shoulder as all the strength in him floods outward.

“Woah!” Becket gasps, rushing them as they sink into the floor. “Chuck, are you alright?! Chuck!”

Max is there, helping them down. He presses up against Scott’s back when they make it safely, the twins clutching him and one another until Scott’s sure any tighter and he won’t be able to breathe. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched him. Held him. Like he was something of value, like he was to be protected and honored and cherished and kept safe and loved always. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he can’t really explain. Sits stunned and so happy it physically _hurts_ , like a razor edge pressed against every part of him.

Becket drops down beside them, concerned, curious, hands hovering uncertainly. It’d be funny if Scott felt any more confident about what was happening. He looks at the younger pilot, tries to come up with something, anything to reassure him. But it all dies in his throat when he hears, “What the _hell_ is going on?!”

 

 


	17. Herc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Monday on parts of the west coast!
> 
> (It counts okay? *hides in a corner*)

This is _not_ what Herc’d expected to find. Not when he’d been informed that Raleigh and his sons were involved in an ‘incident’, as the tech’d put it, in the hallways outside their quarters. Never mind what said tech had been _doing_ there in the first place, he’d been fairly certain that any _incidents_ involving his sons and a certain Becket in a public location were likely going to result in several complaints of one kind of another. At the very _least_ , indecency. Since, well, if the cafeteria last week had proven anything, it’d been that his boys had absolutely zero sense of the word.

He’d paused at the corner to the pilots’ quarters, preparing himself mentally for the sight he was sure to greet him. Probably his sons and Raleigh debauching one another, he’d reasoned, already tamping down on the swirls of desire and shame and excitement dancing in his gut. A pair of breaths taken in, held, and let out slowly had at least calmed the shaking of his hands and buzzing between his ears. Good enough, he’d reasoned, rounding the corner and yelling to his sons. Hadn’t even really taken in the fact that Chuck is naked—somehow not surprising, though it still sends a dizzying wave of _want_ curling through him—before something cold and distant and nearly forgotten roars to life in the back of his skull.

Herc almost falls to his knees, has to stop or trip over his own damn feet as his eyes suddenly _flood_ with tears that seem to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Sadness, an old, aching wound he’d never really forgotten but had sutured shut, flows over, under, _through_ him as he blinks, as the tears fall and his breath catches in his throat and he doesn’t fucking know _why_.

Then three faces are turning to look at him, his sons’—both of them tear-streaked—and Raleigh’s all practically gravitating towards him as the person his boys’d been wrapped around instead turns away. Another wave of sadness passes over Herc, this time causing his knees to lock up, and he only manages to hang on, to keep himself standing, as the sensation suddenly crystallizes in his mind. The familiarity of it, the way the emotion is—

The way the sadness is his, yet _not_ his.

Perfect fractals of reasoning bloom, beautiful in their complexity yet simple at their core, and Herc suddenly _knows_. He _knows_ and—

“S-Scott?”

His brother— _hisbrotherhisbrotherhisbrother_ —stiffens in Chuck and Max’s joined arms when Herc croaks out the single word, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

“Scotty…”

He doesn’t remember moving. Doesn’t remember getting from the mouth of the hallway to his boys, his _brother_. Doesn’t remember saying anything except for that one word, or kneeling down, or taking his brother in his arms. No, the first thing Herc remembers is the feel of Scott’s lips on his, the soft, terrified whimpers his brother is making resonating within Herc’s mind even as something in his chest feels like it’s fucking _soaring_. Scott’s body stiffens beneath him, a thought passing through him that feels distinctly like fear and abandonment and rejection and—

Their lips part with a soft sound, and Scott is still making a high pitched whining noise like a frightened dog. Except, Herc realizes as he rests their foreheads together, their breaths mixing, there are _words_ mixed in, hardly intelligible to those who haven’t learned how to read Scott the way he has.

“Please, I’m sorry, Le’, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I—”

“Scotty,” Herc cuts him off with another kiss, this one soft and quick because _this_ , this he can do. Maybe he still doesn’t know what to do about his sons and Raleigh and...fuck, how god damned _fucked_ he is in the head, but taking care of his little brother? Herc can, _will_ , do anything as surely as he’s still breathing. “I don’t hate you. I _never_ hated you, kiddo. I _could_ never—”

Can’t even make himself finish the thought. Instead kisses Scott again, trying to convey his love, his _faith_ in his brother, all through that press of lips on lips. Nearly explodes out of his own damn skin when he feels Scott finally— _finally_ —starting to respond.

Chuck’s scoff shatters the moment.

“Really?”

Oh that _little_ —

“Chuck,” to Herc’s surprise, it’s Max who puts a hand on Chuck’s shoulder, who tries to wipe away the expression on the kid’s face that’s rapidly passing pissed off and approaching total and complete fucking meltdown, “we all just got Uncle Scott back. Don’t, _please_. I get that you’re upset but—” 

“You’re a fucking _hypocrite_ ,” Chuck hisses in Herc’s face before there’s a wave of something, some unseen force that passes over his skin. Max makes some kind of half-aborted gesture, shouting, “No! Chuck, don’t do it so fast, not yet—”

But Chuck has already shifted back and is on curled up Scott’s shoulder, body quivering with what Herc can only assume is pain. He makes a harsh, chattering noise when Herc tries to pick him up and offer comfort, moving as if to bite a chunk from Herc’s thumb. Only quiets when Max scoops him into Raleigh’s pocket, his little grey and black head poking out and pointing at Herc almost accusingly. Scott looks between them, an expression etched into his face that almost _screams_ guilt. Herc stops him before he even starts to speak, before he gets further than just opening his mouth.

“I never showed him,” he has to take a second to find the right word, “ _us_ , when we drifted.”

Because it still, even now, felt _private_. Yes, his boys are family, but...they weren’t there. They hadn’t held Scott, _his Scotty_ , through the nights of confusion and terror and self-loathing. They hadn’t needed to be an impossible anchor to something they didn’t, couldn’t, truly understand. They hadn’t seen the depths of despair in Scott’s eyes as he’d sobbed in Herc’s arms, hadn’t been forced to listen to their own brother call himself a freak or a monster or worse because some kids at school were right fucking idiots. Hadn’t been driven to near-desperation to show their brother he was loved, he was fucking _cherished_ like the goddamn jewel he was—still is. In all fairness, the kissing hadn’t been a last resort, not quite, since he and Scott had always been what was probably considered to be overly affectionate, but it’d been the only thing that worked.

Nothing more had ever come of it than that. It had been something Scott _needed_ , though, if Herc were being honest with himself, he could admit that, in a way, he’d needed it, too. It hadn’t _needed_ to continue after Herc was married, after Angela had practically welcomed Scott into their family, had treated him like just another person the way Herc did: had adapted to the fact that Scott occasionally turned into a blue merle and cuddled up between them in bed with an ease and patience that should have earned her sainthood. It hadn’t _needed_ to continue after the twins were born.

It just...had. Maybe because Herc didn’t think he could survive without Scott around. Maybe because he loved his brother more than was strictly brotherly—probably had, if he bothered to ever let himself think about it, for his whole life—and because he couldn’t bring himself to choose between Angela and his brother. Maybe because Herc was, _is_ , a selfish bastard.

It had, however, needed to continue after Angela was gone. After they started drifting and Herc had tainted his brother with an artifact of his humanity. After the nights when Scott curled up with him or the boys, a soft furnace radiating boundless heat, became fewer and far between to the point that it’d caused his baby brother actual _pain_ , not being able to shift for so long. After the sleepless nights that Scott spent worshiping the porcelain gods and whimpering Herc’s name, the way Chuck had whimpered his mother’s not even a year previously. Except, where Chuck had maintained his shape against his body’s will through sheer force of stubborn, _stubborn_ will, Scott had been helpless, powerless to do anything to alleviate his own pain. Max had been the only true comfort to either of them, though Herc had tried—god, he’d _tried_. Melting into Scott’s embrace, offering up what little respite he could since he knew—Scott had told him—that physical contact helped.

And yet, the day he’d taken things the furthest he could, succumbed to begging, pleading half-sobs and pressed them, _sealed_ them, together the only way he knew how, Scott had left. Herc had rolled over into Scott’s spot in his— _their_ , really—bed to find it empty but still cooling, the wet spot from their earlier activities pressing against his hip. To find Scott shifted at the foot of the bed, Max nuzzled up against Scott’s side while Chuck slept on in his own bunk. He can still remember the rush of relief he’d felt because Scott had finally, _finally_ shifted again, but the look his little brother had been giving him stirred up something cold and viscous in his gut. The fear, the uncertainty and pain that no normal animal—hell, no normal _person_ —should’ve ever had to carry… All Herc could do in its wake was nod, because, clearly, this wasn’t working: he couldn’t do anything more to help his brother.

He hadn’t been enough. He hadn't—

"Le'?"

His brother's voice, here, now, snaps him back to the present, out of memories he'd spent years hiding from Chuck. His eyes swivel back down to where Scott’s still in his arms, Max still clinging to his uncle’s side. Scott’s eyes are...well, they’re not _wide_ , but they’re not exactly placid, either. Herc finds himself leaning forward before he can even think about it, planting a kiss on his brother’s forehead, just—but only barely—managing to contain the urge to laugh lowly when Scott’s eyes cross to track the motion.

“Yeah?”

It’s possible that Herc feels a spark of arousal shoot through him when he sees how Scott shivers at the contact, so simple, so easy.

“Did,” a loud swallow, “did something happen while I was gone? With you ‘n Charlie?”

The warm fluttering in Herc’s chest vanishes, and it takes everything in him to not just...curl around his brother and try to disappear. Shame threads its fingers deep, already rotting him from the inside out as he closes his eyes, takes a breath, and nods.

He can feel a pulse of...something at the back of his mind, something that feels uncomfortably close to _understanding_. As if Scott’s actually, somehow, _okay_ with this—

“Le’,” there’s a breath against his cheek before Scott’s lips press against the corner of Herc’s mouth, nothing but a small, chaste gesture that means _everything_ , “it’s okay. You know how the drift makes things, and how, well, y’know—”

But Herc’s shaking his head, looking down, eyes still closed, because Scott doesn’t, _can’t_ , know what he’s saying.

“Can,” interrupting his brother makes him feel like shit, but Herc just...he can’t talk about this right now, “can we just save this for later?” He finally opens his eyes, can hear that he’s begging and doesn’t care. “I just got my brother back, Scotty, I...can I just have that for now?”

“We were going to get food if you two wanna come with us,” Raleigh pipes up, and Herc glances over to see him looking between the two of them, almost as if...confused somehow. There’s no judgment in his eyes, though, which is probably all Herc can ask for—although, really, hypocrisy can be a funny thing sometimes—so he nods.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Rals.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue without him giving it express permission, and the shame in Herc’s gut burrows its way deeper because, though he doesn’t have many memories of the Becket brothers outside of Manila, he _does_ remember that being Yancy’s name for the kid. Feels like he’s cheapening it somehow by letting his own mouth form the word. He opens his mouth to apologize, ‘cause _fuck_ he knows how he’d’ve felt just last week if someone’d called him by Scott’s nickname for him. Raleigh, however, raises his hand before Herc can speak.

“No, Herc, you...you can call me that if you want. And it’s not a problem,” the subject change is so abrupt it almost gives Herc whiplash. “We miss you.” Raleigh sends a pointed look down at the little head poking out of his pocket before adding, “ _All_ of us,” when Chuck makes that little annoyed barking sound of his. Herc can feel Max’s arms tighten at the words, though, and maybe he enjoys the sight of his son nosing at his brother’s neck a little too much, even if he knows—fucking _knows_ —that it’s just a shifter thing.

Being a human really sucks ass sometimes.  

“Where, uh,” Scott’s voice is quiet, “where should I put my things, then?”

“My room,” Herc says without even bothering to think about it, something settling in his gut because, well, there’s no fucking _way_ he’s letting Scott leave again. He doesn’t know if he could handle it now that he’s finally gotten him back. “We can stop there on the way to the mess. Have you eaten?”

Actually taking a moment to take stock of his brother tells Herc that Scott is almost alarmingly thin, though he doesn’t outwardly _appear_ unhealthy. Then again, he’s basically seen on more than one occasion that, underneath all those sweaters, Becket’s much the same way. He can only hope that his sons are both working to fix that. Then again, it’s not like Herc’s the kid’s dad, so who’s he to say? He shakes his head, clearing the errant thoughts.

“Never mind that, just...I’ll show you the way.”

So maybe he keeps hold of Scott’s hand the entire way. But Max keeps a hold of the other one while Raleigh gets to play pack mule with everything that isn’t Scott’s backpack—which is to say, a single duffel.  And maybe that early lunch is the happiest Herc’s felt in a long time, not speaking so much as watching Scott, Max, and Raleigh all interact while Chuck scampers about the table between them, making more of those little musical sounds when Scott runs his fingers down the kid’s back or Max plays with his tail. Because, maybe, for the first time in a while, he doesn’t feel like his life is spinning completely out of control. Maybe, he muses, squeezing Scott’s hand where their fingers are still intertwined beneath the table, he needed Scott just as much as Scott needed him.

Maybe, now, everything will be alright.

 


	18. Raleigh

Lunch is something of a fever dream. Raleigh can’t quite make out just what is happening at any given  moment and how any of it can be based in reality. For one thing, Chuck’s a tiny, moody marsupial darting about. Rushing the plates and bringing food back to eat it in the safety of the shelter of Raleigh’s body. Max is quiet and behaves himself, which is equal parts confusing and relieving - he _really_ didn’t know what he’d do with a frisky Max, given their situation. And Herc. The sturdy, ever centered rock of a man, both in his private life and as the PPDC’s Marshal...Herc spends most of the meal...fawning over Scott.

Raleigh blinks several times, but no, that’s still Marshal Hercules Hansen draped over a thin, slightly haggard Scott Hansen who has just casually strolled back into their lives as if he’d only been gone a day. Sure, he’d never known Scott well - he and Yancy had been more compatible in both personality and age - but he’d interacted with him enough to know that this...this quiet, downtrodden, mostly fearful, skittish creature was most certainly not the man he’d known.

Scott didn’t smile, not really. He didn’t laugh. He spent most of the meal curled in on himself as if expecting it all to go ass up. Even with his elder brother pressed up against him from hip to shoulder. His eyes kept darting around and Raleigh swore he was a comment or motion shy of bolting on more than one occasion. The only thing that seemed to be keeping him at the table was the way Herc kept stroking him, fingers gliding over everything they could reach. The touch so clearly adoring, as if to Herc, there was nothing more precious in the world. Herc kept nosing him in the jaw which was something Raleigh had gotten used to being around Max so much. Scott would respond by lifting his chin or turning his head to expose his throat and every soft, pulling kiss Herc placed along it sent shivers through Raleigh’s body as surely as Scott’s.

Herc looked at Scott like he was the center of the universe. A star he’d been almost certain had been snuffed out blazing back to life, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t enjoy every moment of life giving sentiment it was capable of producing while he could.

Scott, for his part, didn’t look uncomfortable, but didn’t seem to be able to really relax into it the way Raleigh figured they were both used to. It might have had something to do with all the staff and crew slowly making their way in. Being absolutely horrible at not staring right at them. Every time Herc caught someone he would glower dark and menacing and the offending person would scurry away, sometimes with a small sound of surprise or urgency.

Chuck seemed torn between wanting to be with Scott again and being so spitting furious with his father that he scuttled around in awkward little fitful zig zag motions. Letting Scott touch him, in fact darting close to rub his entire body up against him as often as possible. But darting away quickly, with actual hisses whenever Herc got too close.

Max kept sighing, but didn’t say anything. Just stroked his brother when Chuck returned for comfort and rolling grapes around the table to watch Chuck chase after them. Which, admittedly, was fucking adorable. Though Raleigh’d be biting off his own tongue and swallowing it before he’d admit that to the pair.

It was strange to be at this table with these people (and one sugar glider) he barely recognized. Stranger still in how it didn’t really lose that feeling of home and family. Even with emotions running as wild as they were. And yet there was something...a pressure just between his eyes that kept making him pause and slow blink. Something in the way Herc kept trying to feed Scott. In the way Scott kept pouting at the forcefulness - as if Herc could ever make him do something he didn’t want to, as if he ever would really _try_ \- and assurances he could do it himself and that he was in fact fine and had managed to take care of himself for six years. The reminder only made Herc more aggressive in his attempts, though he didn’t actively force any of the food into Scott’s mouth. Instead stroking and coaxing and petting and murmuring sweetly into his hair and skin in ways that were probably tried and true methods if the results were any indication.

Herc couldn’t seem to stop _touching_ Scott. As if, should he for one moment forget to, it would all go away like so much smoke. And there was something in the touch - intimate and private as it was - that felt so goddamn familiar that there were several times Raleigh couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat or had to rub away a sudden stinging in his eyes. Luckily, every Hansen seemed too preoccupied with what had happened to notice. Or so he’d thought anyway, until after the meal.

With Chuck unconscious in his pocket, and Herc hauling Scott away, hands clasped and one arm about him, Max had threaded their fingers and without a word guided them back to their quarters. He sat Raleigh on the bed, moving to lock the door before returning. He settled directly in Raleigh’s lap, straddling him and wrapping both arms about his neck. Raleigh wrapped his own arms around him in return, drawing him close. They sat that way for a long time, quiet and peaceful, lost in their own thoughts.

“He’ll never admit it but, he _really_ missed him,” Max says eventually, voice quiet and even.

“Who?” Raleigh asks. “Herc or Chuck?”

Max just shrugs. “They really love each other,” he answers instead.

“Yeah,” Raleigh sighs, finding it doesn’t matter which combination of them they’re discussing. It’s true all around. “I know that feeling.”

Max nuzzles him, nose to his chin. Licks a stripe across his jaw when Raleigh just starts to feel the throbs of memories far too painful to ever actively take out and look at. Not even in the light of day. He doesn’t protest when Max undoes his shirt and frees him of it, setting it oh so gently down before pressing into him tight and eager. Chuck makes a deep yipping sound, and crawls out to glare at them with beady eyes.

“You’ve shifted too many times already,” Max tells him. “You need to rest.” Even as he says it, Raleigh knows as Max knows, Chuck won’t listen. He grunts in pain as he shifts again, then falls back on the bed, limbs sprawled.

“Don’t touch him,” Max instructs. “It’ll only hurt him.”

Chuck cracks an eye open to glare but it’s missing power due to the pain swirling in it. Max and Raleigh sigh at the same time.

“Chuck-”

“I need t’ not be thinking about this now, Maxie.”

“Chuck, I don’t think-”

“Raleigh,” he interrupts, taking Raleigh’s hand and drawing it low over his groin. He shudders before Raleigh’s skin is even hovering above his, and Raleigh feels dread unfurl in his stomach. “Go slow...but take me deep?” His eyes dart down as if embarrassed and he chokes on his next words. “I need…”

It’s all Raleigh needs to hear. He’s leaning over to pull him into a kiss he hopes will comfort more than the words he cannot manage to string together.

Max sighs again, heavy and strangely down, but gets up and goes to retrieve the lube.

This Raleigh can do. He knows what Chuck needs, understands it. He just hopes at the end of it, neither of them will hate him for it. Because he has needs too, selfish as that is to think, and he can’t lose them. Can’t ever lose this. In time, he hopes, they’ll maybe be able to understand that too. Will stay with him despite it; might even love him.

But first, he has some reassuring to do.

 


	19. Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize for everything and nothing with this chapter. Enjoy!

“No, not for _at least_ a week, Chuck. You need to let your body get used to the change again. That takes _time_.”

“No, _fuck you_ , Max,” Chuck doesn’t even bother restraining the venom in his voice, “you think ‘cause you spent ten years checked out as a dog you’re some expert on shifters or some shit?”

Max’s eyes flash at him, angry like Chuck hasn’t seen him in...fuck, not since before Sydney. “No, but I at least know enough about it to know that not doing it for _ten years_ is a _really bad idea_. And, yeah, I might’ve been a dog for ten years, but y’know what? Dogs can read things about people, can figure things out. So, _no_ , I’m not an expert, but I can still _tell_ when you’re going to hurt yourself because you’re pushing yourself _too damn hard_.”

Chuck opens his mouth to retort, but Raleigh gets there first.

“Guys, please, c’mon, is this really—”

“Shut up, Ray,” there’s an almost sick glee that races down Chuck’s spine when he sees Raleigh’s face contort, and he feels like his body is on autopilot as his mouth forms the next words, “no one asked you. You’re not a shifter—”

“Chuck—!”

“—you’re not even a part of the goddamn family,” he shouts over Max’s objection and the following harsh intake of breath, building up steam, “so what would you know? In fact, y’know what? You can just _piss off_.”

There’s complete silence in their small room for two, three, four of Chuck’s too-quick heartbeats as they thud in his ears. He can only watch as the hurt twisting over Raleigh’s face gets tighter, tighter, his mouth hanging slack, almost as if he can’t believe what he’d just heard as much as Chuck can’t believe he’d actually _said_ it, until—

The second the first tear falls, Raleigh turns, moving over to the door in two long strides, flinging it open, and escapes with a hollow boom of metal on metal. Chuck can only stare at the door, the first, absurd thought running through his mind that Raleigh hadn’t been wearing a shirt and he’s probably going to be cold walking around the halls in just sweats and socks. He almost laughs, except—

“You _idiot_!”

Max is suddenly _right there_ , right in his face his features that are so much like Chuck’s own contorted in a rictus of fury, the kind that Chuck has never, _ever_ seen his twin wear before.

“Why would you say that? You _know_ about Yancy, you _know_ —” Max’s finger jabs him in the chest, “—that he has problems with feeling like he doesn’t belong. You were _there_ —” another finger jab, “—for a panic attack about _exactly that_. You’re the one that _taught me_ about it. So _why_ —” jab “—the _fuck_ —” jab “—would you—” jab jab jab jab jab “— _say_ that?”

For all of a half second, Max looks angry enough to just punch him, right then and there—his Maxie, who, when they were younger, was always the one who refused to let Chuck kill so much as a goddamn _spider_ —and it shakes something to Chuck’s very core. His anger drains away like someone had opened a valve in his feet, and he swallows loudly.

“I—”

“No,” Max is turning away, not even giving him a moment to speak, “no I don’t wanna hear it, Chuck. You—” he can only watch as his brother lifts his balled fists to his face, knuckling at his eyes where Chuck can’t see, before shaking his head and sighing. “No, no you’re on your own for this one Chuck, I love you, but...no.”

Before Chuck can even ask what the hell that means, Max has moved over to the door, opened it, and shifted into a bulldog, trotting down the hall without a backward glance. It takes him a minute or two of just sitting there, staring at the door and Max’s discarded pile of clothes, halfway expecting both of them to come back, to laugh it off, but when it doesn’t happen he finally stands up straight again and shuts the door softly. Gathers up Max’s clothes and puts them on the small dresser they share. The room is far too quiet now that he’s alone, the near-silence hurting his ears with its intensity.

“They’ll come back,” he tells himself, just so he has _something_ to hear, “it’ll be fine. They’ll get over it eventually.”

When he finally leaves to get food, the books and manuals spread over his desk suddenly not at all interesting without Max there to share them with, it’s to find that he’s apparently early for dinner. Which, given that he’d skipped lunch because he _really_ doesn’t feel like being around, well, _anyone_ right now, it makes sense.

Of course, as it turns out, the rest of his family had the same idea.

He sees them first, which is the worst part. Watches as Raleigh and his dad converse lowly, Herc extending a hand across the table to clutch at Raleigh’s. Can see that Raleigh’s eyes are still tear-tracked and red. At least the idiot’s wearing a shirt, one of dad’s, though Raleigh is a bit taller than his old man and a bit broader to boot. Which just means that the shirt is stretching a bit more than it was probably meant to. And that Chuck gets a goddamn eye full when he walks in. It also means that he misses the two dogs that are flanking Raleigh, a bulldog and a shepherd, until they lift their heads up and swivel to stare right at him. They don't growl, don't show their teeth or make any threatening gestures at all, but Chuck gets the distinct impression that he's not welcome. His dad follows their gaze, though Raleigh doesn't. Herc nods at something Raleigh says, glancing to Chuck quickly and back, and the blond's shoulders tighten with tension.

Fuck.

Chuck grabs a tray and retreats to his own room to eat, never mind the complaints of the mess staff about misplacing trays and silver. Doesn't even taste the food as he shovels it in his mouth and leaves the tray on his desk. Crawls into bed afterward, but he does not fucking start to cry as he balls the sheets up and holds them to his nose, chasing the combined scents of Max and Raleigh.

It's not like he's lonely or anything. No, he's fine. Absolutely fine.

He doesn't sleep that night. Rubs at his too-hot eyes when his alarm goes off and stumbles from his too-empty bed and into the shower. Turns the water so hot it fogs the room in seconds, but he barely feels it once he steps under the spray. Doesn't even bother getting dressed, just collapses back into bed, into the now-fainter scents of his lovers, and falls, at last, into a fitful sleep.

When he wakes up again it's just past ten at night. He finds himself wondering what woke him before a pang of hunger nearly makes him double over.

Oh.

Thankfully he doesn't see Raleigh or Max. He does, however, see his Uncle Scott at the end of the hall, his dad, of course, plastered to Scott's side. They don't seem to be heading towards the mess, or anywhere in particular, so he hangs back, waits for them to pass. He can't hear what they're saying, but he can hear the constant, low rumble of their voices as they disappear down towards where Chuck knows the jaeger bays hang empty—well, mostly empty.

He eats in his room again, and this time, though the scents of Raleigh and Max are fainter still, he somehow manages to sleep for five hours. Wakes with his alarm again, showers, and decides, fuck it, he wants to go for a run. Maybe it'll wake his brain up, get it thinking right again after his erratic sleep schedule these past two days.

The 'dome gym is not empty by any means, but it is relatively empty compared to most other times Chuck's been there. And, of course, because luck is _obviously_ on his side, Raleigh's running with Max and Scott flanking him as dogs. This time, Raleigh spots him immediately, and Chuck looks away. He notices, though, when they run by, because both Max and Scott form a living barrier between him and Raleigh. On any other day, he'd've made a crack of some kind about how ridiculous Max looks waddling along, pretending to run. Today, though, his heart just isn't in it. He gives them to a count of thirty, then jogs after then, being sure to leave a space between them.

The sight of Raleigh, his brother, his uncle who literally _just_ returned as if from the dead—his _family_ —just out of his reach, so close and yet so fucking impossibly far away, gnaws at the growing empty pit in Chuck’s chest. He doesn’t even manage to make more than six laps, maybe seven, before he leaves with a frustrated, almost pained growl. Doesn’t even notice where his feet are taking him until he finds himself outside his dad’s office. Barges in without even thinking about it.

“Why am I not good enough?” he shouts before the door’s even had time to swing closed all the way, not caring that his old man is apparently working through a huge stack of papers— _actual_ papers—or that, for some reason, his vision is suddenly too blurry to see anything properly unless he blinks. “Why’re you fine being around Raleigh ‘n Max ‘n Scott ‘n, ‘n _anyone but me_?”

“Chuck, what—”

“No! No it’s not _fair_. Uncle Scott comes back and, I,  _fuck_ old man, I missed him too, but you just started treating him like,” he fists his hair, tugging at it, “like a fucking _boyfriend_ or some shit. You _never_ used to treat me like that, like I was _special_ , like I _meant_ _something_ t’you.”

His dad’s face pales, and he drops the sheet of paper he’d been holding. Chuck’s vision goes blurry again, and the Herc-shaped blur comes around its desk and heads for him. By the time he’s blinked, his dad is right there, is reaching for him and clasping his face in those hands that he knows so intimately, hands that have made him shiver and writhe and—

“Chuck,” he whispers hoarsely, “Charlie, baby boy, you have _always_ meant something to me.”

The endearment makes shivers run up Chuck’s spine, but he fights them back and practically growls, “Not like _him_.”

To his credit, his dad only takes a few moments to clue in. When he does, Chuck can only watch as his face draws inward, becomes more distant, and even though this is the closest he and his father have been in _weeks_ , he’s never felt further away.

“Why am I not good enough?” he asks again, the words barely audible over the rushing of his own heart in his ears. “I get that he’s your first drift partner, and your brother, and that means something... _more_ , but, dad,” his hands reach up, almost hesitantly, his fingertips just barely brushing his father’s wrists, “you were my first, too. I—”

Chuck practically gags on the lump in his throat, and his knees finally give up. Herc follows him down, still cradling his face in his hands, almost as if he’s something precious.

“I need you daddy,” he eventually croaks, none of his usual heat behind the words. “I-I fucked up and I hurt Raleigh and I don’t know what to do. I,” words catch in his throat, because this is a confession he’d sworn he would hold in, one that he’d work through on his own, but his mouth apparently doesn’t care because it starts spilling it anyway, “I just want what you ‘n Uncle Scott have, dad. I want to be that for you, too. I don’t want to—” a deep breath that should clear his head, should make him shut up, but does no such thing, “—I-I don’t want to keep feeling like I was just a replacement. Like I’m not good enough for you o-or _anyone_ or—”

He’s silenced by the feel of his dad’s lips on his. Not a deep kiss, not wet or sloppy or anything much really. Just a simple press of lips on lips, but with such an intensity, a passion, a complete lack of doubt or insecurity behind it that Chuck finds himself nearly collapsing completely. His head cranes up when his dad pulls back, and he feels his throat work around a whimper that is silenced by a finger on his mouth.

“Hush, love, it’s alright, I got you.”

The words spill over his skin, leaving him confused, dazed, until his vision blurs again and his entire body shudders on a sob. Then another. And another. And another. Again and again, until Chuck can’t speak, can’t think, can hardly _breathe_ past the heaving of his entire frame. He hadn’t realized how much he _needed_ this, how much he missed...this. Being held by his father like something precious, something beautiful.

Herc doesn’t rush him. Barely speaks except to offer reassurances and occasionally press a soft kiss to Chuck’s temple. Promises that he’ll help Chuck make up his stupidity to Max and Raleigh, which, okay, maybe that gets a watery chuckle out of him.

Things aren’t okay. Not really. Chuck knows he has a lot of groveling to do, a lot of apologizing, maybe. But, this feeling? Of being cherished and loved? It’s with a burst of recognition that he realizes he feels it when Max or Raleigh hold him. It’s different, sure, but then Max and Raleigh aren’t his dad. And, similarly, his dad is neither Max nor Raleigh. He wants, _needs_ them all, as selfish as it might sound.

He doesn’t care if it sounds selfish, though. After everything their family has been through, they deserve to be a little selfish.


	20. Max

When they’d started sharing their bodies regularly, their father had pulled each of his sons aside and asked them if they’d like a new room. One they could share with Raleigh where he wouldn’t be walking in on them ‘left and right’. Max hadn’t seen the point in accepting one, especially not when the goal was to involve Dad eventually. But, Chuck had explained to him that they couldn’t explain that to dad, not outright. They’d have to lure him, seduce him, make him want them and it so much he couldn’t stand it and eventually gave in. Max didn’t see the point, but he couldn’t argue as Chuck knew Dad a lot better. So they’d taken to spending more time in Raleigh’s room, which meant that when Chuck ruined things and Raleigh stormed out, he had nowhere else to go.

Max had shifted because he hadn’t wanted to look like Chuck just then and as identical twins it couldn’t be helped. He figured Raleigh wouldn’t be too happy about it either. And besides, when he felt too much, Max needed some sorting out and the easiest way to do that was to shift forms.

Things made so much sense as a dog. Dogs had no uses for lying and hurting for the sake of hurting. Dogs didn’t attack without reason. There were days Max forgot how Chuck could be, because he hadn’t been so in a long time, and after ten years as a dog his human skills were more than rusty.

Raleigh hadn’t said anything when he’d approached. Just reached down and petted him, allowed himself to be snuggled up against. Eventually Max had been able to coax Raleigh to go to Dad for help and because he’d picked up on the tension, Uncle Scott had shifted and approached Raleigh in the least threatening way possible. Raleigh may have forgotten it was Uncle Scott, or maybe he hadn’t know at all, because the moment Uncle Scott licked his cheek, Raleigh had thrown both arms around him, hugged tight and sobbed into his fur. Max tried not to let it bother him that Uncle Scott fit into Raleigh’s arms better than he did. It wasn’t a contest - something Chuck didn’t understand. But Max was not as agile as Uncle Scott. He wasn’t as graceful and he knew he wasn’t as beautiful. Even years later, worn and exhausted, coat telling what was easier to hide as a human, Uncle Scott was as stunning as ever. Max lay his head in Raleigh’s lap, jaw to his thigh, and closed his eyes as Uncle Scott comforted his human lover. Uncle Scott had better instincts, more experience, and Max was relieved that he was here.

He fell asleep to memories of when they were both younger and Uncle Scott would dart around, the most beautiful combination of stature, muscle mass and coat color. And his eyes...back when people just thought the Hansens traveled with dogs, they’d always comment to Dad on how marvelous Uncle Scott’s eyes were. How beautiful he was, and friendly and charming - for a dog. Dad would laugh and reach down to ruffle Uncle Scott’s ears and joke, ‘Keep going back and forth on neutering him; he’s a bit of a devil, but it’d be _such_ a shame.’ Uncle Scott would lick or nip him then dart away, and Max always watched and wished someone would look at him one day the way Dad looked at Uncle Scott.

Which is only one of the many reasons he’s so furious with his stubborn, idiot brother. Chuck can’t be bothered to care about himself and won’t tolerate letting anyone else do it for him. He’s always had an issue with weakness - that frankly never made any real sense to Max - and when he feels weakest, he lashes out most cruelly.

Max wishes it weren’t the only person to learn of them whose feelings only strengthened who’d been forced to take the brunt of it. Raleigh was strong. Stronger than anyone ever gave him credit for. But he was also scarred. Not merely on his body, but deep in his soul. First his mother, then his father, then his sister, then his brother...Raleigh had been abandoned by each and every one of them. True three of the four had not chosen to go, but that meant little in the face of the gut rending loss, Max knew. And with Mako away, and Raleigh unwilling to ‘ruin things’ by being honest with her, Raleigh was even more alone. Chuck’s comment ostracizing him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Max knows Chuck didn’t really mean it. That he was hurt and angry and confused and a whole lot of other emotions Max couldn’t quite figure out because they were wound so tightly together he couldn’t unravel them to look at them properly. But no matter what Chuck was feeling, there was absolutely no reason it was acceptable to go to the lengths he’d gone to hurt Raleigh.

Max knows Chuck’s lashing out has broken something in Raleigh. Something fragile and sensitive, that ought never to have been entrusted to him. Because Chuck breaks things before he can get attached to them, so they will mean nothing to him when they go away; leaving him unaffected and thus unharmed. But the fact that Raleigh had let Chuck hold that part of himself, knowing as he did what it would do to him for it to be handled roughly, and trusting Chuck anyway...that is the reason Max is most angry.

He isn’t sure there _is_ a way to undo what Chuck’s done. And even if Raleigh somehow, someway forgives him, he won’t forget. He won’t be able to. He’ll spend the rest of his life twisting himself in knots to keep them, when all they want is him as he is. No matter what any of them say, he will never feel good enough, never feel worthy enough, never trust that it’s forever and surely never allow himself to fall so blindly, so hopelessly in love again. And for that Max doesn’t think he can ever forgive Chuck.

He tries not to judge, tries not to take sides, but it’s difficult. Raleigh is hurting so much and he won’t let them make it better. Won’t let them try, absolutely refuses to ‘be a burden’. Max knows this because Raleigh has not lost the ability to completely unburden himself when presented with a furry face and eyes that shine with unconditional love. Max isn’t sure if Raleigh isn’t sure whether or not he and Uncle Scott can understand him, or whether they’ll retain any of it, or if he just doesn’t care. All Max knows is that Raleigh lies down and waits for them. Sighs heavily when they curl up with him, surrounding him. Doesn’t hesitate to reach for them, body slowly relaxing, hands stroking endlessly, steady in their fur as they are not steady at any other time. And he talks. Looking up and pretending those aren’t tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. He tells them everything, never holds back, and the more he does, the less Max feels it will ever be okay again.

Raleigh isn’t sleeping. He wanders the Shatterdome restlessly chasing ghosts. Even asked them once in a moment of despair whether or not Shifters could see them the way animals were reported to. If they could sense them. If Yancy was still with him.

Max until that moment hadn’t known what it felt like to be heartbroken, but the raw, shredded feeling that ate him up inside for days after made him go so far as to bear his teeth at Chuck when he first approached him in an attempt to make amends. Chuck had been so shocked he’d frozen on the spot, hand outstretched and shoulders tight. Max growled at him, low and angry and turned away, running after Raleigh’s scent, because he couldn’t work out why it hurt so much he could hardly breathe. The look in Chuck’s eyes haunting his every moment.

Uncle Scott was the one who finally had enough. Years as the family’s lynch pin giving him a unique sort of power over all of them. So that when he demanded everyone show up in the room he and Dad now shared with Raleigh and Max that smelled like Chuck for hours after he left, everyone showed up.

That's not to say Max is going to be happy about it. Or that he's forgiven Chuck. Or that he can't see Dad standing just behind Uncle Scott, face twisted and hands twitching towards where Chuck is standing opposite Max, his eyes moving almost stealthily between all four of them. 

“Max,” Uncle Scott says, crossing his arms and staring him down.

He is older and stronger and faster, even if Max has youth and stubbornness on his side. Not that any of the others in the room would let them get into a proper dog fight. Not that Uncle Scott would ever let it progress to that. Max sighs heavily and shifts back, looks down at his body, all pale and freckled and washed in red hair and angrily tugs on clothes so he doesn’t have to look at himself. Chuck makes a distressed noise, and if Max wasn’t a shifter, he’d have never heard it. It makes him angrier somehow. He shoves his feet in unlaced boots and leans back into the wall, as much a bulldog now as ever, and just as primed to fight - something he’s never really felt coiling hot and sharp in his gut.

“Enough is enough,” Uncle Scott says in that low, steady way of his.

“Enough is NOT enough!” he snaps before anyone else can do more but awkwardly side eye everyone else. His shoulders push off the wall, propelling him forward with so much force he’s in Chuck’s face across the room before he even realizes. “ ** _You_** ,” he growls furiously through clenched teeth. “If you were a dog, I’d-”

“Max!” snaps Uncle Scott. “Stop.”

“No,” Chuck grinds out, glaring up at him. “Say it. Say it, Max!” He pushes himself up, shoves against Max’s chest, and does it again when Max doesn’t so much as budge. “Say it! We all know where you’re going with this! If you turned into anything else! If you were capable of surviving the fight I’m so ready to give you, I’d rip into you with no hesitation. You ruin _everything_! I turned into a dog for _ten years_ because I couldn’t stand to _look_ at you! I did everything I could to run away and hide because the world was oh so much, too much to handle!”

“Chuck,” Dad says.

“I only came back because you were supposed to have died, and Dad needs his replacements, doesn’t he? And what better replacement than someone who looks like what he just lost? Why grieve when you can have Chuck version 2.0? All the same pretty bits you like, without all the Daddy issues.” He snorts; it’s a sound that grates on Max’s nerves. “Well, you know, you’d have only been some combination of me and Scott. After all, you haven’t been you in so long, what else could you have-”

For a second, Max’s brain can’t catch up to what exactly has happened. The pieces come together slowly, even as Raleigh’s yelling down at Chuck’s crumpled form, a bruise appearing on his cheek. “Don’t you _ever_ talk to him like that again!” he yells so loudly Max’s (and likely Uncle Scott’s) ears are ringing a little. “Do you have _any_ idea what it’s like?!” He turns around, taking them all in. “Do _any_ of you?!” His brow furrows, deep and twitching, like he can’t quite keep it from smoothing out into the hurt he’s radiating. “You’re so busy trying to hurt each other just to get a fucking upper hand, you can’t even grasp the miracle that’s right in front of you! My brother is _dead. **Dead**_! Don’t you think...if I could, for just one second _hold_ him, I wouldn’t rip the whole goddamn universe apart?!” His voice cracks, tears streaming hot and thick down his face. It’s happening, Max thinks. At the worst possible time. Raleigh’s being forced to face the fact that he’ll never see Yancy again, and there won’t be a single pair of arms he’ll allow to console him now. Fear is a sharp stab in his chest and his eyes dart sideways trying to figure out what to do, how to make it better, how to fix what can’t ever be mended as it all spills out into the open, a festering wound exploding from deep within. “And you...you stand here and you glare at each other and you--” His hands curl into fists, chest heaving. “ _Hurt._ ”

He struggles to breathe, choking on emotions and memories and who only knows what else. Max certainly can’t tell. And he isn’t sure anyone else can either. “If this is what it means to be a family…” He shakes his head, one hand opening to wave flatly. “I’m out. I’m done.” He swallows thickly, looking down and away. “I can’t…” Sniffs and raises his head, the soldier coming out to protect what little is left of the man. “Sir,” he says, turning to Dad. He’s stopped crying, but stray tears still drip free of his jaw. “I respectfully request a transfer.” It chills Max to his bones, how suddenly calm he is. The cold of the hollowed, empty response of career military with no choice but to wait on death in combat as a release. “If you refuse, I’m sorry, but I’ll take you to court.”

He’s standing tall now. Shoulders back, feet together, arms at his sides. The perfect Ranger. And nothing else.

“All due respect sir, I doubt the U.N. will want this to get messy.”

Dad’s face scrunches up, eyes narrowing. He’s never handled threats well, not without immediate (usually violent) response.

Raleigh nods, steps over Chuck’s legs and strolls to the door. “By your leave.”

There’s a moment where all Max can hear is screaming. He knows it’s all in his head, or maybe all in a dog pitch, because Uncle Scott looks at him, head tilting. He’s terrified of what’ll come next. When an immovable object meets an unstoppable force and all that.

Dad nods, jaw tight.

Raleigh nods again and reaches for the doorknob. The world slows to a crawl as Max stares at his back, the slide of tense muscles as he turns it and steps out. The view of him fading as the door closes behind him. Max whips around, and ruins everything further, in blatant disregard of everything his lover’s just said. “I hate you!” he shouts at Chuck. The scent of tears strengthens in the room, a combination of his own - already flowing - and the pool of them in Chuck’s eyes, stubbornly held back.

“I _hate_ you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so sorry ~~we're not sorry at all~~


	21. Raleigh

Raleigh hurts.

The word somehow seems inadequate to the task of describing his emotional state at the moment, although it’s the only one that's capable of summing it all up. Chuck’s words had left a hole in him, one that sat oh-so neatly beside the one Yancy had left when he’d been torn away. The ache it brought him at first was similar, like a piece of him, some vital part necessary for him to think feel _breathe_ normally, had been torn out with all the finesse of a Kaiju’s house-sized claws being used in lieu of a scalpel.

He wasn’t wanted.

Behind all the bloated words and posturing and glares, those were the words Chuck had been truly speaking. The one place he’d thought he could place his trust, his _heart_ , and it’d shunned him just as easily as Knifehead had torn Yancy from his life. Casually, with a speed and efficiency that’d belied the pure savagery behind the action.

He barely slept. Only ate because Herc forced him to, the pangs of his stomach nothing compared to the cold anguish radiating from his chest. Every time he dozed off, Yancy was waiting for him, drivesuit waterlogged and skin deathly pale where the Blue hadn’t eaten through his flesh. The dreams varied between begging and accusing, but it hardly mattered: Raleigh always woke the moment his brother’s hands bridged the gap between them, the frozen handprints lingering on his skin long after he woke. The voice, though, haunted him even into his waking hours— _why could you save me why weren’t you good enough_ —until Raleigh was almost certain Yancy’s ghost was literally haunting him.

Max and the other dog—Scott, according to Herc—helped. Helped to hold the cold at bay, to keep him anchored in the here and now instead of dwelling within the shattered fragments of his memories, within the splinters of himself that Yancy had left behind in Raleigh’s mind. Helped show him that, even if Chuck didn’t, _someone_ still cared about him. They did little, though, for the phantom knives in his chest whenever Raleigh actually laid eyes on Chuck. The other man looked about as shitty as he felt, and that tugged on something and twisted the knives further. That, somehow, through all this shit, he still cared, too. 

But then Scott had apparently called a family meeting—”That includes you,” Max had told him, squeezing Raleigh’s hands hard enough that he’d been afraid the bones might crack—and seeing Chuck with Herc standing just beside him while Scott stood in the middle of the room. It had almost been too much, had made his breath come up short. Herc had looked...hopeful, almost, his position just behind Chuck making Raleigh think that maybe, if nothing else, the two of them had started actually _talking_ again.

And then Max and Chuck had just... _jumped_ on one another right away. It’d been the angriest he’d ever seen Max. He’s fairly certain the fact that Scott moved to stand between them had been the only reason the pair hadn’t actually traded blows of some kind even as they’d stalked towards one another.

The words pouring out of Chuck’s mouth, though. Raleigh could see how they affected Herc, how the older man’s face, the fragile hope there, had splintered, become drawn and weary. How that faraway and skittish look Scott had been wearing when he’d first shown up had reappeared with a vengeance. The same look that’d gotten slowly better each day, and, fuck, had it really been almost a week since then? _Only_ a week?

But then Chuck had mentioned Max. Had _attacked_ Max, calling him...christ. It’d been more than Raleigh could handle. All he could think, all he could imagine, was how Yancy would’ve _never_ said anything to him like that, could _never_ even if he wanted to now because he’s—

His hand still hurts, radiating a dull throb up his arm, even a day later. It would figure that Chuck’s goddamn hard head would hurt his fist more than the other way around. He doesn’t regret the punch, or requesting a transfer. Would take neither of them back even if he could, because he...he can’t stay here. Not where everything he sees plays off of some memory of his brother, pushes the pain he's been trying, almost desperately, to suppress for the past five years out into the light of day.

He can't do it. He _can't_.

 _You’re running again_ , Yancy’s voice whispers in his mind, a perfect imitation to the real thing, condescending lilt and all, letting Raleigh know that he thinks his little brother’s being an idiot again. Raleigh curls further into his bed, wrapping a pillow around his head. He’d rescued it from their old room together, drowning out his brother’s insistence that he was just torturing himself by arguing that it was his favorite. It still smells like the twins—especially Chuck—and, even worse, does little to drown out the voice.

 _Don’t run from this, Rals. Don’t leave them. Don’t_ —

“No!” His shout reverberates around the empty room. “You’re dead, Yance!” Cold shoots through him as the words leave him, and he practically gags around the next. “If you wanted to have a say, you shouldn’t’ve died and left me all alone.”

 _Rals, that’s not fair_ —

“Neither is you being _dead_ ,” if he weren’t so sleep-deprived and wracked with sadness, he’s sure he would’ve been more likely to contemplate the strangeness of him talking to an empty room as if the ghost of his brother were actually listening in. Then again, with the drift, who knows, really? “You’re _dead_ , Yance. You’re _gone_. I don’t—” he has to squeeze his eyes shut as his chest constricts and tears blur his vision, “I don’t know how to do this without you. I _can’t_ do this without you.”

_Yes you can, kiddo. Please. Don’t give up. Don’t leave._

“What is there left for me to _do_? They don’t want me. _No one_ wants me.”

 _That’s not true. You just have to keep going. You can get through this. You_ will _—_

But Raleigh’s already shaking his head.

“No. I’m won’t. I’m not strong, I—” He has to take a breath, because his lungs are suddenly tight, _burning_ , “I’m not like you, Yance. Why’d you have to die? It—” one of his hands kneads at his chest, “It _hurts_. God, Yance, I miss you so fucking much and it just hurts _so fucking bad_. I don't know how to do this anymore—I don’t know if I _can_ —”

A knocking at his door, barely audible through the pillow, breaks him out of his thoughts. With a groan, Raleigh lets his hands fall from the pillow and his head loll to the side, towards the wall. Which brings him face-to-face with the picture of him and Yance from when they’d first joined up, arms slung about one another and smiling like the goddamn idealistic morons they’d been.

 _Yes, you can_ , his brother’s voice whispers in his ear. _You can do it._

And, just as he’s moving to push away the blankets covering him,

 _I believe in you, kiddo_.

He’s not sure how he manages it, but Raleigh hauls himself out of his bed and over to the door. A quick look through reveals that it’s Herc and Max, still in human form—and _jesus_ how sad is it that he can tell the difference between the twins now just from a quick glance—the former looking grave while the latter just looks anxious. He sighs, wiping at his face to make sure he hadn’t been crying. Glances down and decides he doesn’t care that he’s not wearing anything but boxers—he really can’t be bothered at the moment, anyway, if they’re just going to stand in the hallway—and opens the door a few inches. He keeps his body behind it, though, and musters up the soldier part of his mind, the part ruled by discipline and order; the one part that hasn’t failed him yet.

“Yes, sir? Can I help you?”

Maybe his breath catches a little in his chest at the sight of Max’s face falling when Raleigh completely fails to acknowledge him. Maybe that’s why, when Herc asks if they can come in and talk, Raleigh nods and mutters a soft, “Hey Max,” before turning away, leaving the door propped open. He hears two sets of boots enter and the door close as he’s rifling through his wardrobe, sifting through the pile of clothes that are not his because he’d apparently grabbed half the twins’ stuff when he’d left. It makes a pang go through him that standing around in nothing but underwear feels more than slightly awkward now. Since, well, not even a week ago, he wouldn’t have cared at all.

“Raleigh,” and there’s Max, of _course_ , “you—if you don’t want to, you don’t have to, it’s not a big deal—”

“You had something you wanted to talk to me about, sir?” He cuts Max off, digging through the drawers of clothes but only coming up with things that belong to the twins. He resolutely ignores the warmth rolling down his face as he starts searching more frantically, and, no, he’s not _sniffling_ , it’s just fucking cold in here, and there’s probably just some stupid dust in his eye or something.

“I wanted to tell you that your request for a transfer has been approved,” Herc’s words are clipped, professional. They do _not_ make Raleigh’s entire body shudder. No. It’s not that, nor is it the soft, pained sound Max makes. It’s the cold, obviously, and the fact that he can’t fucking find _anything but socks and underwear jesus christ_.

“However,” Raleigh feels his back stiffen at the word, and his hands still, “it will only be complete once we have somewhere to transfer you to.”

“And,” Raleigh swallows, not turning around, “how long should that take, sir?”

“The Los Angeles ‘dome should be back online in roughly a month,” comes the easy answer. “We’ve had some of our boys out there trying to get it running again for a few weeks, ‘specially since the Wall actually makes it a more defensible position now, but,” a sigh, “given your request, I’ve shuffled around a few reconstruction personnel. We’re still spread pretty thin, what with trying to reactivate the Academy, Panama, Tokyo, and Vladivostok, but—”

“A _month_?” Raleigh doesn’t turn around, but he can practically feel the glare Herc is sending him as he continues looking for— _fucking finally there are those god damned sweat pants_. “Can’t you just send me over as one of the crew members? Marshal, sir, I have experience with construction and rebuilding from my time—”

“No.”

There is no explanation given, but the answer is the first thing Herc has said that has any inflection of emotion in it. Raleigh blinks at the wall before turning slightly, taking in the way Herc’s eyes have hardened, how the lines around his mouth appear deeper set than Raleigh’s ever seen them.

“But sir—”

“No.”

“ _Sir_ ,” Raleigh turns himself fully towards the other man now, can see that Max’s eyes have widened as Raleigh himself grasps at straws. Maybe he’s a little desperate. Maybe he doesn’t care. “I can help. It’s not like there’s a _reason_ for me to be here—”

“ _No_.”

Herc’s voice is almost a growl now, and Raleigh flinches because _shit_ this would be a really inappropriate time to get a boner. “I agreed to this goddamn _stupid_ transfer already, _Ranger_. Be satisfied with that. You have your answer.”

The words are punctuated by Herc turning on his heel and marching towards the door, opening and shutting it with a sound of finality. Max, though, takes a step forward, which makes Raleigh put a single hand up.

“No, Max, please, I—” he can feel new tears forming in his eyes, though whether they’re of frustration or something else he can’t tell. Not that it matters because he _apparently_ hasn’t cried enough, “please don’t. I can’t come back. I...after everything, I just...I can’t.”

Max’s face falls.

“You don’t have to, I swear, not unless you want to, but,” he shifts from one foot to the other, looking down, “Dad got Chuck ‘n me separate rooms, so if you wanted to… y’know, just you and me. I’m just saying, it, we can do that if you want.”

Raleigh’s sure there’s a story there, somewhere. Something that’d happened after he’d left. He can also hear the offer, silent but still there: I'm here for you, I can help if you just let me. But, after everything...

“I...I don’t know, Max. I'm sorry, I just..." _can't trust you can't trust anything can't be fixed want you want you so badly it hurts it feels like I'm going to die but I_ can't, "I’ll think about it, okay? But for now, I just...”

Max nods at him, expression so damn _hopeful_ that it almost breaks Raleigh’s heart on the spot, before he leans forward and places a soft kiss on Raleigh’s cheek. Raleigh makes no move to stop him, even though the contact makes something twist in a way that feels particularly like self-loathing—the kind that's followed him everywhere since 2020.

“Chuck might be an asshole, but I don’t want to lose you because of him.”

With that, Max turns and heads out the door too, though he closes it much more gently than his father had, leaving Raleigh with nothing but his thoughts and his brother’s phantom to fill the silence once more.


	22. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for all the angst lately. I think we can safely say we're through most of it. There's still a slightly-sizable bump ahead that we've had planned for quite some time, but then things will get better (promise!)
> 
> Also, apologies for not posting on time (or at all) last friday. We were both indisposed for, well, a lot of the weekend. So, because of that, bonus chapter today! (And I don't just mean the retroactively posted one either)

With emotions running high and hurt deep, it doesn’t surprise Scott in the slightest that they’ve all seemed to have forgotten something rather important. He hadn’t. Hadn’t bothered to share it though, because Herc needed the startling as much as the rest of them did. Sometimes a good shock was the only way to properly reboot a troubled system. So when Mako Mori calls at an ungodly hour and Herc reflexively answers, Scott’s senses bring him to full wakefulness, though he merely rolls over with a moan.

“Sir,” she greets, not apologizing for the interruption of his sleep.

“Mako,” Herc replies, struggling a little to push himself up, arm pinned under Scott, from where he’d been previously holding him close. “Is something wrong?” He asks so earnestly, so concerned, that Scott sighs and rolls back over to give him the support he needs. Eyes blinking open to allow their’s to meet. Herc sends him a quick, grim smile of thanks, and drags his arm back toward his body, towing Scott up against him.

“I am unsure which of us should be asking,” she responds.

Herc’s brow furrows and Scott shuffles lower so he won’t be visible to the person on the other end, roping an arm low over Herc’s middle and pressing a supportive kiss to his side. He knows where this is going. But Herc, sleep logged and overtired all at once from the happenings of the last week is having trouble putting two and two together. Sometimes Scott wonders whether being promoted to Marshal will do more harm than good in the long run. And every time decides that he will personally see to it that it will be for the better.

At the look on his face, she continues. “Sir, Raleigh’s being transferred?”

Realization doesn’t dawn. Instead Herc scrubs a frustrated hand over his face, exhaling heavily. “At his request, Mako.”

Scott can still remember the sweet, shy and quiet little girl she used to be. How reserved and painfully obedient she was, even as a young child. Nothing had much changed for the majority of her life, Herc had informed him. Until that was, Raleigh Becket had come into it. He can hear it in her voice, the change, as she replies. Can sense the solidness of their connection. Co-pilots are first and foremost loyal to _one another_. Herc isn’t dealing with a Ranger right now. He isn’t dealing with the girl he’s known for years. He’s dealing with a Jaeger Pilot who has just been informed that their co-pilot is suffering from enough distress to want to escape by any means possible. Even if that means separation. And that, Scott knows, no Co-pilots will tolerate. Not if they can help it.

“May I ask why?”

“Mako…”

“Sir, why did you approve Raleigh’s transfer?”

“He didn’t give me much choice-”

“And _not **mine**_?!”

Herc blinks, surprise clear on his face.

 _Ah,_ Scott thinks. _Here we go._

“I wasn’t aware you wanted one,” Herc replies, still out of the loop, but starting to make the connections. He’s known Mako too long as something else, too many incarnations that include but are not exclusive to who she is now.

Scott looks up to see the holoprojection through the back. Mako looks distinctly unhappy. Possibly hurt, but more furious, if he had to make a guess.

“Raleigh is my co-pilot,” she states, clipped and formal, words coming out as if painfully drawn from the haze of a state where no words really do the feeling justice.

Herc takes a deep breath as realization finally dawns, exhaling steadily through his nose. It’s a calming gesture, but Scott knows it means he’s realized how well and truly fucked he is. He rubs over his abdomen consolingly.

And then Mako surprises them both, before Herc can even apologize.

“I refuse to transfer,” she says, lifting her chin defiantly.

“What?” Herc replies, voice lost to further understanding.

Scott pushes himself up. It has been a _long_ time since this sort of thing has happened.

“I refuse to transfer,” she says again. “Until I know why Raleigh wants to be transferred, I refuse the request.” 

“Mako…”

“I will be home soon.” The ‘so you better get your shit together’ is heavily implied. The ‘or else’ looming thick and heavy in the connection. “Good night.”

As the screen disappears, Scott sits up. “Forgot, didn’t you?”

Herc blinks at him, brow furrowing slightly. He sits up as well. “I see you didn’t.”

Scott adjusts, making sure they’re facing one another. It’s so reminiscent of their years together, it aches in places he can’t name. Herc has been so careful with him, so terribly gentle and considerate, as if he fears Scott will disappear at any moment if they so much as disagree.

It hurts to know how deeply he has scarred his brother. To be conscious of the shadows he cast over Herc’s life - and Chuck and Max’s as well. They’re all of them, so afraid of _losing_ things, they struggle to properly communicate the feelings behind it. Except for Max, who is struggling purely for the same reasons Scott himself struggles: Humanity is complicated and uncomfortable, and generally unfulfilling. Between the choice to live with pain and misery, or the chance to live each day carefree with limitless abandon and emotional freedom...it was no contest really. Only they had failed the people they loved most in choosing so selfishly, even if at the time it had been necessary.

Scott is grateful for what is coming.  Even if it dredges up deeper wells of fear that churn slowly in his gut.

“You had to be reminded,” he explains.

“So thoroughly?” Herc asks. There’s...something there Scott can’t quite grasp. Other than relief and...joy?

His brow furrows, then evens out as his eyes widen in surprise as Herc draws him close, settling him between his legs.

“I’ve missed you so much, Scotty,” he husks, before kissing him. It’s deep and longing and Scott is confused. Herc can feel his hesitation and retreats, pressing their brows together and whispering in the space between them. “You’ve been so haunted,” he whispers. “The closest you’ve been to yourself was when you called that meeting. Shh…” He pulls him closer. Scott has to straddle him so they don’t collide. 

He isn’t even aware he’s been whining, all canine and despondent. Only realizes as Herc trails soft, warm, affectionate kisses up and down his throat. Broad hands smoothing across his back, petting him, even in human form. The way he always has.

“It made me so happy,” he says, nibbling gently against the curve of his jaw. “That you tried.”

Scott’s head tips back of its own accord, exposing more of his throat to his brother’s steady administrations. Desire bubbles up in his middle, coils and coils of it slowly wrapping him up, until his hands clutch at Herc’s shoulders desperately.

“I’ve missed you _so_ much, Scott.”

He’s not exactly sure how things have managed to shift around so completely, but he finds he doesn’t care. All that matters is Herc against him,  pressed close and touching him everywhere.

His arms loop about Herc’s shoulders, which helps anchor him close as Herc lays back and rolls them over. The weight of him atop Scott is so...secure, so safe, he feels tears prick his eyes.

They’re in Herc’s too. So Scott kisses him.

It’s a kiss like the one that started their last night together so many years ago. Herc is aware of it, he can tell. From the buzzing in the back of his mind, to the emotions seeping through to his soul, to the way Herc presses deeper into the kiss, head turning and mouth opening, _consuming_ him.

Everything is heat and light and sensation. The smell of Herc permeating every last atom. Scott winds his limbs, locking them tightly, unable to let go of him, to give even the slightest ghost of space between them. Herc groans low and deep, the sound rumbling in his chest. He shifts, getting the traction he needs to push his hips down in a steady arching motion. Scott cries out into his mouth as their groins make contact, erections rocking together.

They spend who knows how long that way. Rocking together like schoolboys. Harsh breaths mingling between them as they alternate between looking at one another while they try to catch their breath and kissing so passionately the dizziness borders black out.

After a while, one of them - he isn’t quite sure which - frees them enough from their clothes that the first touch of super heated flesh has them both coming hard. Bodies still moving together as one, sharp and efficient and without hesitation. Herc slumps over him, pressing his face into Scott’s neck. His wet breath tickling the sweat sensitive skin. Scott strokes over Herc’s back, hands on autopilot.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Herc manages. It almost sounds like a command. Or would, if not for the trembling.

“I didn’t want to leave you to begin with,” Scott replies, looking up at the ceiling and breathing deeply of Herc. He’s never felt more at peace than in this moment.

Herc shifts, lifts his head so they can look at one another. “Then why did you?”

Scott shrugs. He’s never been sure himself. “I ran. You didn’t come after me.”

He can feel something break in Herc. Something give in a way that brings so much pain, Scott can smell it even now, sharp and sour. But it doesn’t break Herc. Instead, his brother seems to draw strength from it. “I thought I was giving you what you wanted,” he replies.

“I know.”

Their eyes meet again, and Herc’s are filled with so much love, confidence and determination, Scott almost forgets how old they both are.

“Nothing in my life has ever made sense without you.”

Scott nuzzles him, rubbing the curves of his face over Herc’s.

“Thank you for coming back,” he murmurs, beginning to rub back. “Thank you for coming running to save me, like you always have. Even when you were too small and scrawny to know better.”

Scott husks out a laugh.

“I love you.”

He can feel things mending between them. Becoming effortless in the way that’d always been their natural state, prior to the drift. When they’d known one another so well and nothing had been confusing.

“I love you too,” Scott replies.

Even as they kiss, Scott can feel the bond between them strengthen. Can feel Herc unburden himself of all the ‘necessary adjustments’ he’s made over the years. He can’t help but smile into it, earning a nip from Herc.

The boys have no idea what’s coming.

And Scott is of no mind to warn them.

Sometimes a little shock is good.

 


	23. Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your regularly-scheduled update. :'D

Raleigh hasn’t taken him up on his offer. Though, given everything that’s happened, Max isn’t surprised. His new quarters are small, but he’s fairly certain they’d be able to fit both of them if necessary. Most importantly, though, they’re _his_. He’s not sharing them with Chuck—he still has to restrain the urge to growl to himself whenever he thinks his twin’s name—or his dad or...or anyone else. Sure, maybe it’s a bit lonely at times, but...well...he still hasn’t quite figured out what should come after that thought.

He’d managed to sneak into their old quarters while, somehow, neither Uncle Scott nor his dad were there and pilfer his old dog bed. It’s probably more comfortable than anything a real dog would ever need—his brother had seen to that—but, more to the point, it’s more comfort _ing_ than it is comfortable. The human bed in the center of the room lies mostly unused, save for the night after he’d offered to share it with Raleigh. He’d collapsed into it then, unable to summon up the concentration needed to shift. And even when he does shift, sleeping in a normal bed feels wrong without someone there. Then again, if the fitful sleep he’d managed to get that one night was anything to go by, he probably doesn’t do so well sleeping alone in normal bed even when he’s human. He recognizes the feeling for what it is, though: the canine instinct to seek out pack, _family_.

Being so far from the rest of his family for this long has already been torture. However, all he has to do is think of what they’d all done to Raleigh, of how they’d welcomed him in, made him feel like one of them, made him look more whole than Max had ever seen him, and then snatched that all away from him. Oh, sure, Chuck had been the one to do the snatching, but his dad’s just...letting him _run_. And Scott…

Now that Max thinks about it, head bowed as he passes people on the way to the ‘dome library, Scott isn’t really implicit in any of this. He’d actually _helped_ at first. Except, there is the bit where Dad’s so fucking distracted by him that he can’t really see anything else. Like how much Raleigh needs _them_ , _not_ to run away again. Max didn’t need to spend ten years as a dog to know that letting him do that will _destroy_ him more completely than anything any of them could’ve tried to do.

At least Dad’d managed to keep him around for a month, give or take. Maybe that would give them time to—

“ _Chuck Hansen_.”

The voice washes over Max, definitely female, familiar, and full of authority and venom. He cringes on reflex, because _of course_ Chuck has managed to piss off someone else, and Max is fairly certain, from that voice, that his brother isn’t going to come out on top. And, sure, he’s upset with Chuck at the moment, but he’s still his brother. _Family_.

( _Which is the problem_ , a small voice in his mind whispers.)

Still, it’s none of his business who his brother pissess off, not anymore, so—

An iron grip closes around his neck, bearing down with an expert precision. Max feels his knees give out from under him without his consent at the same moment a spike of pain shoots from the base of his neck down to his groin and back up. He might whimper, but he’s not sure. The same grip wrenches him back, and he finds himself eye-to-eye with one Mako Mori. There’s color on her cheeks, the faintest dusting of pink, and her eyes are narrowed to slits. As he watches, arms flailing back to try and dislodge her grip, a muscle in her jaw clenches.

“Tell me what you did to him,” the words are low, cool air whispered against his face, though to Max it feels more like a dragon’s just breathed fire over his skin.

“M-Mako,” he manages to get out, “Mako, that _hurts_ , please—”

Her grip redoubles, free hand clasping about one of his wrists as she executes a maneuver Max has seen in Chuck’s memories. One that ends with his chest slammed against a wall and his arm twisted behind him.

“Tell. Me. What you did to him.” Mako’s voice doesn’t get any louder, doesn’t get deeper—doesn’t change at all, her grip just tightens with each syllable. “I have left _sensei_ 's family when they need me because of whatever you've done, so you will _excuse_ me if I do not wish to put up with your idiotic, _pointless_ —"

"Oy!" The voice rings down the hallway, loud and resonant, and Max has never been so happy in his life to hear his brother. "Hands off my brother, Mori!"

Max hears Mako draw in a breath, her entire body going completely still behind him, then she drops him. Quite literally. Max only manages to keep himself from falling on his face because of his proximity to the wall. He curls in on himself, slumping slowly down until he’s sitting on the corrugated flooring and rubbing at his neck. It still aches, but the pain is fleeting, passing, and it vanishes almost completely when warmth envelops him. A familiar hand covers the sore point on his neck, while another snakes into the nonexistent space between him and the wall to soothe up and down his back, seeking out his wrenched shoulder.

Chuck’s eyes meet his when Max looks up.

“You okay?” His brother’s voice is low, meant just for the two of them, and for a moment—one shining, bright moment—he forgets about everything that's happened over the past few days. Forgets about Chuck being a goddamn fucking idiot. Forgets about proclaiming his hatred for Chuck and the simmering discontent brewing in their family: discontent that is propelling them all towards some kind of inevitable explosion that Max knows— _knows_ —is coming just as surely as he knows he's powerless to stop it, that it has to happen so that they can try to fit their pieces back together. In this moment, it's as if none of that is true, as if it's just the two of them against the world like it's always been and this is just another time that Charlie is standing up for him, his bigger brother putting himself between Max and harm the way he _always_ does.

In this moment, Max just nods, fingers latching on to the front of Chuck's tee the way he always has, like his older brother is his lifeline. Like those six minutes make all the fucking difference in the world, make Chuck his big brother, his protector—his guardian angel.

The moment shatters, though, when Chuck nods and turns back to Mako. Max hears words shouted ("What the _fuck_ was that for Mori, huh? What'd he ever do t'you?" "I'm sorry Chuck, I was a little bit preoccupied with the fact that you've apparently hurt my copilot badly enough that he requested a transfer _without asking me_.") over his head, and it's too much. Too fucking much.

It's Raleigh who finds him several hours later—time passes differently when he's shifted—curled up in a corner of Striker's old bay, the memory of his brother’s raised voice following him even into the darkened corner he’s managed to wiggle himself into. Things always tend to make more sense to him when he's like this, always seem to be somehow brighter, but at the moment it's a struggle. Somehow, the fact that it's not even that much of a struggle to not wag his tail when Raleigh comes into sight, to not show some kind of expression of happiness, doesn't make him feel any better.

"Hey," Raleigh's voice is soft, comforting and gentle the way Max has always known it. He can't stop a pleased rumble from escaping him when fingers card through his fur because, hey, it feels good.

"Mako told me some of what happened. After she, uh, yelled at me. And stuff. If it makes you feel better," he adds quickly, “I yelled at her, too. For what she did to you. That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

Max huffs in answer to that. Not like there's much else he can say. Raleigh’s face pinches.

"Yeah. I know. She told me to tell you that she’s sorry, too. She just was— _is_ —worried. About me."

Another huff.

"I'm gonna guess you're saying something about how you and Chuck look nothing alike? How you're way better looking and that doesn’t excuse her mixing the two of you up?"

The silence stretches until Max lets out a soft whuffing sound. He turns to lick once at Raleigh's hand. The other man shouldn't be the one to cheer _him_ up. Not after...everything. Besides, Raleigh's really the one who's been wronged here, not Max, since it’s not like Max _hasn’t_ hurt Raleigh in these past few days; maybe not directly, but...he feels like he should’ve done _something_ to help. Raleigh’s hand stills, and Max finds himself leaning into the touch, trying to get more, greedy as he is. But, again, the other man’s hands feel _good_.

“I don’t hate you, you know.”

It’s not the words so much as the _sadness_ in them that make Max look up sharply. Raleigh’s not looking down at him anymore, eyes instead distant and unfocused.

“And I don’t hate your family, either. I just, I _can’t_ ,” he closes his eyes, swallows; Max doesn’t move, tries to minimize the sounds of his breathing, “I lost my entire family, lost _Yancy_.” There’s a resonating tone to Raleigh’s voice when he says his brother’s name, something that makes the word itself sound like an open wound instead of just a name. Max finds himself wondering if Raleigh knows he does that; probably not. “I would give _anything_ to just see him smile one more time, or to hear him crack a stupid joke, or...god, just to hear him snoring in the bunk above me. I—”

Those eyes, crystalline blue and some of the most beautiful things Max has ever seen, open again, tears filling them, falling from them as Raleigh angles his head down.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Max, I-I can’t. It...it _hurts_ too much.”

Raleigh falls silent again, not moving, tears rolling down his cheeks. Max can only guess—can only try to imagine—what he’s feeling, but the loss etched in every line of Raleigh’s face, the pain rolling off of him in acrid waves, is telling enough. The silence gains weight, presses at Max’s ears, until finally he can’t take it anymore. Can’t stand to see Raleigh, Raleigh who has suffered so much already and who doesn’t _deserve_ to suffer any more, look so lost, so _sad_. He whimpers lowly and shuffles in the other man’s lap. When that doesn’t get so much as a twitch, he turns, leans up, and licks a line up Raleigh’s cheek.

That, at least, gets him a small smile.

“I know, Max,” Raleigh’s hands start moving again, “I know. I love you, too.”

Those words, Max finds himself thinking, shouldn’t sound as heartbreaking as they do.

 


	24. Raleigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand your bonus chapter. 
> 
> (Things are getting better! But then here comes that bump we mentioned...)

The knock on the door wakes him, and it isn’t until it does that he realizes he’s actually been _sleeping._ Raleigh pushes himself up groggily, only to fall back at the weight on his chest. He’s halfway through a muttered curse, when he recognizes the weight as Max. The soft smile that accompanies the lightening of his mood can’t be helped.

Max hadn’t said anything last night when Raleigh’d picked him up and tucked him close. He’d tilted his head, looking up at him curiously, but he’d been quiet and still the whole way to Raleigh’s room. It wasn’t until after they’d arrived and Raleigh’d kicked the door closed that Max had begun whining. High and heartbreaking and Raleigh hadn’t had the heart to try and explain anything. “After what Mako did, I think we could both do with not being alone tonight,” was all he’d said. Thankfully Max had understood, because he hadn’t shifted back. Had let Raleigh set him down on the bed, only curling up after he’d joined him.

It was the most sleep - and most restive unconsciousness - he’d had in _days._ And with Max beside him, Yancy had kept his distance. Whether that was a good or bad thing remained to be seen.

Max snuffles as he lifts him carefully, sets him down gently and eases out of the bed. The knock comes more loudly this time, closer together. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbles, raking a hand through his hair. He’s in sweats and a tank, feet bare and tags dangling over one shoulder. Hair askew for the combination of waking and sleep. Which is probably the reason why when he opens the door Chuck’s mouth snaps shut, cutting off anything he was about to say, and he rushes him.

It’s incredibly unfair, Raleigh thinks, for Chuck’s kiss to be so damn good after everything they’ve been through. But his arms have already thrown themselves about Chuck’s neck. His legs follow the motion as Chuck lifts, wrapping around his middle. And the clang of the door slamming as Chuck shoves him back against it rings with a finality that leaves him feeling intensely relieved.

A relief that is abruptly halted as Chuck is hauled back roughly. “No!” Max shouts, moving between them. Raleigh’s legs are unsteady and he collapses into Max’s back, the younger reaching back to draw him close reassuringly. “He’s not Dad, Chuck! You can’t just-”

Max doesn’t fare any better than Raleigh against the onslaught. Raleigh thinks, Max has to have known, had some idea. Had let Chuck anyway. Perhaps to see why Raleigh had been so instantly accommodating, despite how hurt the other’d made him. Perhaps to see for himself if Chuck was being genuine or just fucking around. He shoves him back after a moment and Raleigh isn’t sure why. Can see the confusion in Chuck’s eyes, the hurt. Can feel Max shaking - with what, he hasn’t the slightest clue - all along his front.

“I don’t know, okay?!” Chuck shouts suddenly, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know what else to do! You won’t _talk_ to me, Max! You won’t even ** _look_** at me!” He throws his arms out, managing a half circle of frustration. “I fucked up, okay?! I do that! Because I’m an idiot! You _know_ that! And I don’t know how to make it better, okay! I don’t know how to-...how to do... _this_.” He gestures at them with both arms, a jerking motion fueled by emotion. “I love you both _so **much**_.”

He tugs at his hair, moving as if to turn away only to face them again. “You’re my _brother,_ Max. You _know_ me! You’ve been inside my head! I-...And Raleigh, I just want to..throttle you. I—”

“Chuck,” Max says gently, reaching around to slide his arm about Raleigh’s middle. “Words.”

“I bleeding hate words!” Chuck shouts. “Just…” He motions helplessly with his arms. “I think we all know I’m fucking useless with ‘em! Let me...let me _show_ you. I’m a Jaeger Pilot, Maxie. I don’t know how to do anything else.” His eyes shift and meet Raleigh's, and Raleigh already knows he’s going to let him. Knows before Chuck even continues. “Raleigh, _please._ You know. You know...what I...Can I just try? Please.”

Max shifts against his side, but Raleigh isn’t sure if it’s in frustration, anxiety, or some form of resignation. He nods anyway.

The relief in Chuck’s entire body gives him entirely too much hope, considering he swore to himself this would never happen again. The younger pilot licks his lips, and steps skittishly forward for a moment, as if unsure. It helps, because Raleigh’s pretty damn unsure himself. But then Chuck’s leaning in close. Stroking Max’s side before cupping Raleigh’s face in his hands. His thumbs smooth along his skin and it’s too much. Chuck seems to sense it though, because in the next moment his mouth is pressed to Raleigh’s. The kiss is deep and heady and nothing at all like what he’d been expecting. This kiss feels so much closer than what they’d had. More...more like touching your co-pilot after the drift. Vibrant and resonant and echoing, and scary as fuck.

He wrenches away with a cry, backing into the wall. Slides down it into a crouch as his chest seizes. It’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Emotions swirl hard and fast and dizzying, and he’s curled up in a ball before he even realizes that it probably isn’t good to restrict his chest any further when he’s already having trouble breathing.

Twin faces waver in and out of his vision before he squeezes his eyes shut. Tastes blood in his mouth as his scalp stings. But it’s nothing really, compared to the explosion in his mind. Something dark and tight and high rattling looser. Something that feels a lot like raw agony.

He runs headlong into the awaiting darkness, because he knows if he doesn’t, something far, far worse will find him. And he will never, ever be ready for it.

 


	25. Herc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, after you have all waited so patiently, here we go. 
> 
> With some luck, things are going to start going pretty consistently uphill from here.

After everything, after all this _shit_ they’ve been through the last couple of days, this has got to be the fucking icing on the cake, Herc finds himself thinking as he takes in the scene before him.

It’d started with a frantic page from his son—well, from both his sons, really—telling him that something was wrong with Raleigh. Herc’d rubbed the unconsciousness from his eyes, uncurling from around Scott’s body while his younger brother had whined, the sound high and decidedly displeased—and even now, Herc has no idea how Scott can make such dog-like sounds while still human. He’d kissed the corner of Scott’s mouth, quick, chaste, a simple ‘ _I’ll be back_ ’ painted across the motion, before he’d slid himself from the bed and padded over to the main terminal by his desk.

Chuck’s panicked face had filled the screen, and that alone had galvanized Herc to his very core, because Chuck _never_ panicked. Not when the other Jaeger in their team went down, not when Leatherback had disabled them in less time than it took to wind up their missile launchers—his son and panic simply were not acquainted.

Unless something had gone horribly wrong.

“Dad—” was all his son had croaked out. 

“I’m on my way,” was all he’d said, not needing further explanation, cutting the connection and keying the lights in a single motion as his fingers start to trace patterns to show him where Chuck was located in the ‘dome. “Scotty?”

But Scott had already made his way over to the dresser, was pulling on actual clothes overtop his boxers and tossing things Herc’s way.

“It’s happening,” was all he’d said, something like finality pulsing lazily between their minds. And, no matter how Herc pushed as they ran to Raleigh’s quarters, Scott had refused to elaborate.

Now, he’s fairly certain he knows why, because Chuck panicking suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Raleigh is lying just inside the door, turned on his side, body twitching spasmodically. He’s not making any noise aside from occasional grunts of expelled breath, but his breathing is harsh, labored, his knuckles white where his hands are clenched into fists. Chuck and Max are both hovering around him, as if afraid to touch him, and Herc’s glad that at least they’d had the sense to not let the kid writhe around on his back.

The sight makes something cold curl in his gut, freezing deep and fast, too fast, until it cracks apart in jagged chunks.

“Fuck,” he swears, not softly, “Chuck, code Medical, _now_.”

Chuck doesn’t move. Neither does Max. _Neither_ of his sons respond to Herc’s voice at all—hell, he’s not sure they’d even moved when he’d entered the room.

“Chuck!”

Still no response. He’d get more reaction yelling at one of the god damn metal walls—at least those occasionally had comm ports that were programmed to respond automatically. Herc takes the two steps forward necessary and grabs Chuck by the shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Chuck, code Medical now and tell them what happened or so help me—”

“I didn’t mean to,” Chuck whispers, voice low and wavering, and it’s only then that Herc realizes his eldest’s cheeks are tracked with tears, his eyes still wide with panic, “I swear I didn’t mean to, Dad, I didn’t mean to, I—”

Beneath them, Raleigh stills. The sudden lack of motion draws all their gazes, and, in a flash, Max is there, arms wrapped around Raleigh’s body, pulling Raleigh into his lap. Herc can see that his chest is still heaving as if he’d run a marathon, that his eyes are wide and pupils dilated. He glances back to find Scott still standing by the door, having apparently shut it behind them at some point, looking grave. He catches Herc’s gaze.

“He’s remembering,” Scott says softly, eyes turning back to where Max is holding Raleigh, to where Chuck has wrenched himself from Herc’s grip and latched himself onto Raleigh’s side. “So many connections, such a big part of his life lost...I was afraid it would kill him to remember it all.”

Chuck is whispering something softly—Herc’s fairly certain he catches the words of an apology—while stroking the blond’s side. When Scott speaks again, voice low and only for his ears, Herc doesn’t jump only because the thread of the ghost drift between them had already told him his brother had moved silently closer.

“I didn’t want to believe that he could’ve forgotten, that it was _possible_ to forget something like that. It’d—god, Le’, it’d be like me forgetting about you. I just,” Herc hears Scott’s voice catch, doesn’t have to look as he moves his hand subtly to the side, their fingers entwining, his brother’s grip grinding his bones together with its strength, “I can’t _imagine_ a life where I’d forget... _you_. How you make me feel, how, much I love you, how—”

“You’re saying he forgot Yancy?” He interrupts Scott, but only because his brother’s not making any sense. Still can’t make himself look away from Raleigh’s wide, terror-stricken eyes. “Scotty, he talks about Yancy all the time.”

“But never about anything important. Never what they meant to one another, what they had—”

And _that_ , that is enough to get Herc to glance over at his brother, grip tightening sharply.

“What’re you talking about?”

Scott’s gaze on him is almost sympathetic.

“I could smell it. Them. On each other. All the time. Like you and Angela when you were married.”

“They were _brothers_ , Scott.” He has to fight to keep his voice low now, to not be louder than the soft sounds of comfort Max and Chuck are offering. “They _lived_ together, alone, for two years. Of course they’d smell like each other.”

Before he’s even finished, Scott’s shaking his head.

“That’s different, Le’. Siblings, family, people you live with: you get their scent on you, sure, but not like that.” He looks away from Herc, back towards Raleigh, drawing Herc’s eyes to follow. “What they had...it went beyond that. Beyond even what we had before I left.”

The sting at the reminder—the knowledge that Scott _left_ , even if it was for his own good, even if Herc had given his blessing because he _knew_ , he _understood_ why it had to happen—is completely lost amidst the wave of cold that rushes through Herc’s entire body. 

“What?”

Which is, _of course_ , when Raleigh speaks. His voice is hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it in years. When he blinks, eyes clearing, there’s a depth of emotion, raw and unfiltered and _lost_ , that’s reflected there, so deep that Herc almost has to look away.

“Yancy.”

The _pain_ in that single word, the _loss_ , makes Herc stiffen, and he can feel Scott do the same at his side, can see the way Max’s face curls into a rictus of sympathetic pain and Chuck’s hands freeze.

“Oh my god, how…” the blond trails off, looking around him, eyes catching on Herc for a moment before swiveling around, eventually landing on Max beside him. “How...how did I forget?”

“Raleigh,” Max murmurs lowly, almost too low for Herc to catch, “it’s not your fault, you—”

“ _I forgot my own brother_!” Raleigh thrashes, breaking the grips the twins have on him, scooting away until his back collides with a wall, eyes wild. “I-I forgot _Yancy_ , I didn’t _remember_ , I—oh _god_.”

Herc can do nothing but watch as Raleigh curls in on himself, can see the moisture spilling from those eyes that have known too much pain in their time. Watches those eyes squeeze shut as Raleigh’s hands twine themselves through his hair, grip white-knuckled, as his head falls to his knees.

Raleigh screams, the sound bone-chilling, wordless, that of a man coming undone at the seams. And, even though the sound is directed into his own lap, muffled, and even though Herc has never drifted with Raleigh, he could swear he feels an echo of that pain, that loss stringing in the air between them, as tangible as the very walls that surround them. Feels his eyes prick with tears that are not born of his own anguish. Feels Scott’s body press against his side, no distance between them now.

Max and Chuck rush to Raleigh’s side, but it makes no difference. He continues screaming, entire body strung taut like a bow, so tight Herc fears he might splinter into a thousand pieces. Screaming and screaming and _screaming_ , continues even after his already-hoarse voice gives out, after his face is bright red with exertion, splotches of darker color blossoming along his cheeks. Doesn’t stop until he just sort of...keels over, his brother’s name mixed into the whimpers he continues to make, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Doesn’t stop that until he finally, _finally_ , closes his eyes and slumps into the hold Chuck and Max have on him, still making soft noises beneath his breath.

The entire time, Herc can only watch, his feet frozen to the floor. Can only let the growing pit in his stomach gnaw further and further into his guts, because he can’t...he can _not_ even _begin_ to imagine. It’s only when Raleigh is unconscious—which, mercifully, had only taken only a few moments with the way the kid was breathing so rapidly—that he finds his muscles again, somehow gets his throat working. When it comes out, his voice is level— _flat_ , almost.

“Max, Chuck. Get him in the bed.”

His sons both start at the order, but move to comply, neither saying anything. As they struggle with Raleigh, Herc walks past them to Raleigh’s desk console and calls Medical. Tells them that Ranger Becket collapsed with a seizure—or, at least, they think it was a seizure—and that they need help in his quarters. When he disconnects the line, Herc keeps both his hands planted on the desk, bowed over the metal surface. Photographs of Yancy and Raleigh dot the wallspace above him, none of them betraying anything other than two blissfully happy brothers. None of them even hinting that there was something...more.

But, then again, Herc himself is an expert at keeping something like that hidden. He should’ve _known_. Should’ve _seen_ the signs. Should’ve realized when Raleigh’s reaction to memories of his brother was something far more than just familial loss.

He’s so fucking blind.

Scott’s hand lands on his shoulder. This time, it does surprise him, lost as he is in thought.

“They aren’t going to find evidence of a seizure,” Scott tells him quietly. “You know as well as I do, Le’. That was just…”

“Him remembering,” Herc finishes. Glances back over at the bed, where Chuck and Max have formed a protective cocoon around Raleigh’s occasionally-twitching form, his soft murmurs and tortured-sounding groans filling the air between them. Herc feels a tugging in his chest, a need to hold Raleigh and his sons tight, to let them know that they’ll all get through this. They’re a _family_ , and, despite what Raleigh might’ve thought—might still think—that _means_ something to him.

Scott’s grip on his shoulder tightens.

“Go to them, Le’. I’ll let you know when the medics are here.”

Herc shakes his head, though, raising a hand to cover Scott’s.

“You’re a part of this family too, Scott.”

And, without another word, he pulls Scott towards the bed as well. Chuck and Max welcome them in with only a single glance before turning back to their lover. And maybe the look Max gives them is far too knowing. Maybe Herc doesn’t care, wrapping himself behind Max while Scott moves behind Chuck, their fingers joining above Herc’s sons.

It’s cramped, but they make it work.


	26. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay. No promises on a posting schedule, as we write this pretty much when we get the time and motivation. Rest assured it's still in our minds. Haunting us.

The first responder isn’t part of the medical staff. It’s Raleigh’s co-pilot. Mako bursts into the room, eyes more than slightly wild, an honest to god katana in her hand, muscles trembling and raring for a fight. Scott gets up before anyone can make it worse, and urges Chuck aside gently. “Come on Charlie,” he murmurs. “You know how it works.” Chuck grumbles, but complies, shifting Raleigh so he can settle behind him, cradling the shaking blond with his body. “Mako,” Scott calls softly, gesturing to the bed.

She stalks over, likely feeling a mixture of emotions - not all of which, hell most of which have nothing to do with her - and climbs into the bed, eyes wide. “Raleigh,” she says, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Raleigh turns into the touch and bursts into a new wave of hysterics. His co-pilot gathers him up, murmuring in Japanese, somehow managing to keep him steady, despite her smaller form. But then, the drift has a way of uniting people modern science still can’t make exact sense of. It had worked when they’d needed it and that had been enough. With the war over, they were in for a lot of testing.

By the time medical arrives, Raleigh and Mako are in what Scott likes to call a drift coma. They’ve lulled one another into a feeling of safety and security, brows together, eyes closed, and limbs securely tangled. While Chuck reasonably understands it for what it is - though Scott sincerely hopes he’s never had to experience one - Max spends his time anxiously pacing, eyes on the pair on the bed. Herc...Herc Scott knows, is intimately familiar with them. Having spent a lot of time trying to calm him as his condition worsened over the years. Scott watches as his brother’s eyes stray from Raleigh only to take in his boys, focus on Scott himself for long stretches at a time, before going back.

Medical lay Raleigh out on a gurney around Mako, who does most of the moving herself, her co-pilot following her lead instinctively. Raleigh was always better suited to Scott’s side of the conn-pod. The younger brother in his natural state. Leaving the leading to the eldest and trying to alleviate his burdens whenever and wherever possible, regardless of what it did to his reputation.

Herc watches them wheel the pair out, gently easing out an arm to keep his sons where they are.

“But, Dad-!” Max protests.

“Stay Max. Raleigh and Mako need each other more right now. The more people around them, the less likely it’ll be Raleigh’ll cooperate.”

“No!” Max shouts, stamping his foot, hands balled into fists. “All anyone ever says is to leave him alone! Raleigh needs us! Raleigh needs us more than anyone!”

“Max,” Chuck says softly, wrapping his arms around him and drawing him back into his body. Scott often forgets he’s the eldest. Two sons, with the same burdens, even if they’d come into their lives differently. “It’s okay, Max. We’re not abandoning him. They just have t’ do some tests is all. We’ll see him after, okay?”

Herc is watching his sons with an expression Scott can’t quite place. Watches as Charlie gentles Max, speaking to him softly, in an intimate tone that they’ve always shared. As if there was a language all their own no one could ever crack. He strokes him and kisses him and slowly coaxes the frightened fury free of his twin’s stubborn form.

“Scotty.”

The rough, but low call receives his attention immediately. He can feel Herc’s unsteadiness through the drift even as Herc holds out an arm. His eyes are pleading, but they don’t need to. Scott would give the world to Herc.

He crosses over to him and wraps his arms about him, even as his brother folds him into his embrace and holds so tightly, if Scott weren’t a shifter, he’d probably be uncomfortable. As it stands, it’s so secure, Scott relaxes completely. Rests his head to Herc’s chest as Herc buries his face in his hair.

They’ll get to the boys in a minute.

They’ll have to go to Raleigh soon.

But for the moment, they all have to face the unimaginable: Raleigh’s truth. It’s enough to break even the strongest of wills, and yet Raleigh can still love with his whole heart. And for that, Scott fears for him the most.


	27. Max

Raleigh isn’t responding to the world around him. Only eats when he’s encouraged to, sleeps with lights-out, wakes again when the nurses come to check on him for the morning shift. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t look at anything except something in the distance only he can see. He’s for all intents and purposes, catatonic.

At least, that’s what Mako tells them. Max is sure she’s leaving some parts out, if only to spare their feelings. Even so, every day she reports to Herc and Scott on Raleigh’s condition, and tacitly adds that the doctors are refusing to let anyone but immediate family and his copilot visit. Which, then, means only Mako. At least, according to them.

“You have to make them understand, Mako,” Max practically begs her one night, the two of them standing under a flickering ceiling light outside her quarters, “we _are_ his family. He _needs_ us. _Please_.”

But she’s already shaking her head, looking at him with a sad, distant expression he’s learned people use when they think the person they’re talking to is being foolish.

“He needs _time_ , Max. Time away from,” she gestures at the air around them, “everything. Remember, your _family_ is what made him like this. I do not think it’s a good idea, and the doctors agree. And even if I did not, there is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

So Max returns to his quarters. His quarters that he still has to himself, usually. Dad and Scott were there earlier, but now...now they should be dark, and lonely. Perfect, really, for—

A very loud, very annoyed sound greets his ears when he flips the lights on. He sighs loudly, rounding the bed to find a sugar glider curled up in his dog bed, apparently just awakened and reacting like any normal sugar glider to the sudden presence of light. The sight makes the low curl of annoyance that’d spawned in Max’s gut, his already-frayed nerves stretching, stretch that much further, almost—but not quite—snapping.

“Chuck,” he says, low, rubbing at his face with both hands, feels his skin pulling at his eye sockets, “I thought all this shit started because I told you to not shift again for at _least_ a week. I know it’s been almost two, but still. You need to _slow down_. And—” he blinks as a thought occurs to him, “—and how did you even get in here? Did you—you didn’t _hack_ in, did you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just strides over to his door and waves a hand past the palm-sized console beside it, red projections blinking at him indicating a forced entrance less than, according to the timestamp, an hour ago, initiated by one C. Hansen.

The coolness of the doorframe’s metal is an almost welcome relief against his forehead.

“Chuck...you. Thank you for earlier, with Raleigh, keeping me...down. But...you. You know I don’t forgive you. Not yet. So why are you here, really?”

“You’d probably have a better chance of getting an answer if you didn’t ask the wall, Maxie.”

Max pretends to not be impressed that Chuck’d managed to shift in complete silence, without triggering any of his senses, because, as always, Chuck excels at every single damn thing he tries to do. Well, everything except what’s important, apparently.

“The wall’s less likely to say something stupid,” he fires back without thinking. Immediately feels like shit. Turns around, meeting his brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Chuck. That was...that was mean. Of me. I shouldn’t’ve said it.”

Chuck just climbs into Max’s bed like he owns it, shrugging. The only thing giving away how very forced the nonchalance of the action is the way Chuck’s eyes are fixed on a point just over Max’s shoulder, at the level of his ear.

“Nah, weren’t exactly wrong. I mean, look at everything I’ve done, right? Messing up my own body for years, probably ruining Dad’s relationship with Scott ‘cause of it, stressing them out all the time ‘n whatever. Fucking up things with dad by fucking him. Flat-out wantin’ to fuck my own dad, I mean, how _fucked_ is that, right?”

“Chuck.”

But Chuck doesn’t stop, his eyes still fixed on that point over Max’s shoulder, the facade cracking as he keeps talking, keeps spilling the emotions Max knows he’s been trying to hide away the way he _always_ does no matter that it’s always ended in ruin before, that it’s always ended in some sort of tidal wave of the wrong words the way it is now..

“And then, _fuck_ , ruining that and letting dad’s best friend die for me because I wasn’t fucking _good enough_. And _then_ , as if that wasn’t bad enough, just flat-out wrecking whatever we had between us and with Raleigh and—”

“ _Chuck_.”

“And I’m just shit at this stuff, okay?” Those eyes, mirror to his own, swivel back to Max, and he nearly chokes on the raw _pain_ he sees there. “I told you: I _bleeding **hate**_ words. I-I don’t know what to do with them. What to do in-between all the fucking _incredible_ fucking. How to not be an asshole. I just. I don’t know how to be good enough for you, Maxie. I—”

Chuck’s voice catches, his eyes glistening, but no tears fall. And, really, it’s that, more than anything—his brother’s stupid, _stupid_ inability to even fall apart properly, to just let it all _go_ —that breaks down the last of Max’s defenses, that has him sighing into his hands before flicking the light off and moving towards the bed. He hears his brother make another half-aborted attempt at speaking again in the darkness before, just as his knees collide with the bed,

“I get why you hate me, Maxie.”

 _Oh_.

All the air freezes in Max’s chest, and it’s at least three beats of his too-quick heartbeat before he can speak again, can swallow the lump that’s congealed in his throat.

“I don’t hate you, Chuck.”

“Maxie, you don’t have to lie—”

And that. _That_. That sets him off. Has him practically leaping over the bed until he’s straddling his brother’s body above the sheets, hands on either side of where he knows Chuck’s head is—almost as if on some instinctual level, whether it’s because they’re twins or they have some kind of weak ghost drift between them, he’s not sure. Either way, he ends up on top of his brother, practically bracketing him in, staring down at eyes that he also knows, just as surely, are staring back up at him. He feels, god, so _angry_ , heat of it writhing in his guts, the urge to just _shake_ the moron who shares his genes almost palpable, and yet…

He can’t. Maybe it’s the dog in him, but he _can’t_.

“I don’t, Chuck. I _don’t_ hate you. I couldn’t.” One of his hands finds Chuck’s cheek, still dry. “I don’t know what I have to do to make you believe me, but it...it’s the truth.”

The kiss, forceful and desperate, is expected. Predictable, even, at this point. This time, though, Max lets it happen, lets himself be swept up in it, to let himself imagine for a few seconds that things are fine, that he hadn’t just spent days trying to see the man they used to call lover in the hospital, even going so far as to try shifting and sneaking in, but still being turned away each and every time. He can imagine that Raleigh is just down the hall, about to join them, and Dad and uncle Scott are just a few minutes behind, all of them piling into the small bed like they had to comfort Raleigh, but this time they will comfort each other, all of them, together. A family, shifters and humans, and whatever else they may become beyond that. He can imagine that things are okay.

But...things aren’t okay. Raleigh won’t respond to the world around him. They aren’t allowed to see him. Chuck…

Max pulls away, doesn’t move beyond separating their lips. Forces himself to listen to the pained sounds Chuck makes, breathes them in, swallows them down. Then lays down beside his brother, pulls their bodies closer together until he’s cradling Chuck in his arms. Holds on to the shaking body for all he’s worth, tries to soothe as best as he can with word and gentle hands, and it’s there, in the dark, that Max has a realization of his own. It’s so obvious, been sitting _right there_ in his face this whole time…

Raleigh’s not the only one who’s broken.

They’re all, _all of them_ , broken. His family. Dad. Scott. Chuck. Hell, even him, in some ways, all the small details of being human he still sometimes has difficulty understanding. And Raleigh…

Raleigh is the key. The one who has the power to fix them all, to be the center that binds them all together the way they’re meant to be.

And he’s down in Medical, unresponsive because, as Scott explained it, his brain reconnected so much pain, so many lost memories, all at once, that his consciousness can’t make any of it make sense. His mind couldn’t handle losing Yancy then during Knifehead, and it can’t handle the shattering of whatever mental blocks now that were keeping the full extent of the pain away. And, just like they all need Raleigh and one another to piece themselves back together, to turn themselves back into a one and a one and a one making three—or, his mind muses maybe one day making four, or even five—Raleigh needs them to be a part of the same equation.

It’s simple math, really.

Just...simple. Like most things in their lives. Like all the things they convince themselves are actually complicated and messy and impossible. So very, _very_ simple.

People say Max doesn’t understand. That he overlooks important details. Max, though, thinks that _people_ don’t understand. That they spend so much time on the details, the ins and outs and fragments of relevance that they often miss the big picture. Like this one: they need one another. All of them.

Now, he just needs to convince the rest of them.

And it’s that thought that ushers him into sleep, arms still wrapped tight around his brother’s shaking body. He doesn’t forgive Chuck yet, but he knows, just as assuredly as he known that he loves his brother more than almost anyone else on the planet, that he will eventually. One day. It’ll probably take a lot of groveling, a lot of make up sex—or something like it—and a _lot_ of talking. But they’ll get there.

Or they won’t. And everything will stay terrible.

Max, though? Max has faith.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (SublimeDiscordance), personally at least, feel this is a better place to leave it than where we left you guys last time. A much more...hopeful place. Hopefully it is to your satisfaction :)

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, updates are posted pretty much as we write and co-approve them.


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